


A Pride of Lions Wreathed in Blue

by GlameowGal360, notallfoxes



Series: Children of Azure Moon [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Violence, Children of Characters, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 108,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlameowGal360/pseuds/GlameowGal360, https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallfoxes/pseuds/notallfoxes
Summary: The Blue Lions won the war.Then they married and had children.Over 17 years later, everything goes to shit for those children.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Linhardt von Hevring, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Raphael Kirsten/Leonie Pinelli
Series: Children of Azure Moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897201
Comments: 24
Kudos: 44





	1. They Say Life Always Goes On

28th of Ethereal Moon, Year 1202

—Castle Fhirdiad, the Kingdom Capital—

“Your Highness, I’ve heard great things about your healing capabilities,” A noblewoman dressed to the absolute nines hooked her arm through Nikolai’s. “My daughter is looking to attend the Officer’s Academy and she happens to possess an aptitude for faith magic as well. Perhaps I can introduce you when the time comes?” 

Nikolai Jeralt Blaiddyd gave his most endearing smile. “I would love to become acquainted with her. If she’s as charming as her mother, I imagine I’ll adore her.” 

The woman tittered, still gripping his arm. “Well, I’ve been told she takes after her father.” 

Without making it obvious, the prince skimmed the room until his eyes locked onto a flustered man wiping liquid off his overcoat: Anton Gautier—a low-ranking member of House Gautier, but high up enough to attract some interest. And, judging by the tirade he had launched into against one of the servants, he was still as unpleasant as ever. 

“Madame Falin,” He started, gently shifting them both in Anton’s direction. “I hear that a certain member of House Gautier has taken an interest in you.” 

She attempted to muffle a squeal, and failed. “I just knew I’d caught someone’s eye!” The woman relinquished her grip and practically skipped over to the other man. 

Nikolai smiled at the way Anton’s eyes widened before his body slumped in resignation. That definitely counted as his good deed for the day. He moved back into the crowd, shaking hands and making light conversation when necessary. He’d been doing this for enough time to justify a break. 

The area just outside the ballroom was blissfully quiet in comparison. Nikolai peeked back inside, looking for his parents or anyone else that might miss him. The King and Queen were surrounded on all sides, and his sister was speaking with some friends. Kliment stood beside his father, Margrave Sylvain. 

Good. He could take a walk, and maybe sneak into the library. Walking through the castle, seeing the imposing paintings of the previous royal families, always made him a bit uncertain of how he fit into everything. This was his home, to be sure, but it was very different from what he was used to—the Monastery. Goddess, he’d been away for a week, and he was already longing for the hours of uninterrupted study. Perhaps his appreciation for Fhirdiad would be greater under less stressful circumstances; the upcoming summit had meant being an ideal prince for all the diplomats and noblemen. 

Laying eyes on the book-stocked shelves was a welcome relief from everything else. “Now, where was that book on the effects of ice on… Here you are!” Nikolai had spotted the reading material on his first day there, but hadn’t had a chance to sit down with it. Unfortunately, he probably wouldn’t have much time now either. 

He skimmed over the pages, occasionally stopping to investigate a particularly compelling method. Page 120 made him laugh a little. “Well yes, you could kill infected cells by subjecting a body to extreme cold,” Nikolai set the book down and rubbed his eyes. “But you’d also kill everything else.” The author fully admitted that these theories were all just fun suppositions, but maybe you _could_ find a way to isolate cold to a single area with the use of magic. Nikolai would have to begin looking into that when he got back to Garreg Mach. 

More than just a few minutes had passed by at this point, so he pushed himself up with a groan and trudged to the ballroom. Luckily, a group of servants was bringing in another round of food and drink right when he slipped back inside. Now back to smiling, nodding, and inevitably redirecting. 

“Prince Nikolai.” 

Heaven help him. “Sir Feofan. It’s wonderful to see you again! I wasn’t aware you were coming.” 

The old knight looked him over, and Nikolai could feel his eyes boring into every inch of him. “Your Highness, I may be getting on in age, but I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.” 

Breath in. Breath out. Redirect. “I’m honored that my birth holds such a special place in your memory, but if we are to speak of the past, I would much rather discuss your knighthood. You see, I’m researching sword techniques, and I’ve been told that you used to be one of the greatest with a blade.” 

Feofan frowned. Darn. Nikolai had either been too obvious in his intent, or shouldn’t have used past tense. 

“Before that, there’s something about that day that’s troubled me as of late. What I recall specifically is the announcement that Her Majesty had given birth to a healthy baby _girl_.” 

Well, there it was. The old bastard’s voice was far from quiet, so he’d begun attracting attention as soon as he opened his mouth. Now, because people always had to latch onto any inkling of a rumor, there were whispers. 

“I remember that, too. Is it possible a mistake was made?” 

“About a member of the royal family? I doubt it. Not to mention that would mean it was never rectified.” 

“Wasn’t the name given to the public Nikolette-”

That name always pushed him past his limit. With strained politeness, Nikolai cleared his throat. “Since you have so many questions, I’d recommend talking to my sister. _VERA_ may be able to provide you with answers.” He called her name loudly enough for it to carry over the gossip and the effect was almost instantaneous. 

___

“And how would you settle the border disputes with Almyra, Lady Vera?” 

“I would find a way to strongarm them into taking the deal.” Vera Patricia Blaiddyd took a swig of her beverage without breaking eye contact. 

“O-Oh really?” the lord beside her stuttered. 

“I think it could prove advantageous for future disputes to find something that would force them into compliance.” 

“Your- ah, approach is certainly more… direct than His Majesty’s.”

She furrowed her brows. He was clearly off-put by her answer, but it seemed like an obvious enough solution to her. The summit and all its compromises would only go so far—it felt as though conflict would be inevitable if no one took a more straightforward stance. The Kingdom and Almyra had different agendas; they wanted different things. As Princess of the Holy Kingdom of Fódlan, her country’s best interests would always overrule those of other nations. 

“You seem discontented,” Vera observed. 

“N-Not at all, my lady!” he hastened to reply. “It’s only that Shah Khalid is renowned for his keen mind. Such an endeavor could prove… unsuccessful against a man as crafty as he.”

“No one man is invincible. Not to mention that the summit could prove just as unsuccessful.” It was clear that she hadn’t exactly soothed his concern. By now, her attention had begun to wander, and she searched the ballroom for a familiar face to trade verbal blows with. Right then, a young man with bright red hair clapped a hand on her shoulder. 

“Vera! I’ve been trying to track you down all night! I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Her Highness, milord.” Iosif Glendale Gautier flashed the noble a charming grin and pulled her away without waiting for a response.

“I had the situation well in hand,” she chided once they were out of earshot.

“You’re kidding, right?” He gave her an incredulous stare. “You were being _way_ too upfront.” 

“And I assume you could’ve done better?”

“I’ve been doing better all night. These people are all sharks. If you don’t wanna be eaten, you can’t let them know how you actually feel about anything.” 

“I’ve fought bears, Iosif,” she said with a flat look. “I can handle aristocrats.”

“True enough, but you weren’t trying to get those bears on your side.” Throughout their conversation, he directed a calm smile toward any who passed them. “There’s no shortage of people in my House I’d like to sucker punch. Doesn’t change the fact that I need them in my corner if I hope to become Margrave and not a corpse.” 

“Ugh, politics,” Vera moaned. “It gives me a headache. Whatever happened to settling affairs the old fashioned way? Just take your quarry outside and have at it.”

“Speaking of which-” 

They both turned to see a purple haired girl shuffling over to them, making a point of glancing around her as often as possible. 

Iosif smirked. “Irina Glynis Dominic-Fraldarius!” He was definitely using her full name to annoy her. “I’m surprised you let yourself get dragged to one of these.” 

“I didn’t _let_ myself get dragged into anything, Gautier,” she muttered. “My mother tricked me into leaving active duty. I was told I’d been reassigned… I should have known better.” 

Vera tried and failed to hold back her laughter. “Only you would have to be tricked into taking a vacation.” 

Irina’s mouth twitched into a deep frown. “If that is what this is, then I am vacationing in hell. And I’ll have you know that my mother is a massive hypocrite—she’s been trying to sneak in work all night.” 

“This whole thing is work,” Iosif said, running a hand through his hair. He leaned closer to them and his voice dipped into a whisper. “I’ve been trying to uproot a conspirator since I arrived.” 

“Perhaps Kliment is having more success on that front,” Vera tried.

“I saw Anton fussing over something earlier.” Irina rolled her dress sleeve up slightly and the tip of a dagger gleamed. “I can look into it if you want.” 

After all these years, it wasn’t shocking that Irina snuck a weapon into a social gathering; swords were her security blanket. Iosif still paled at the suggestion. “Thanks Rina, but I’m trying to handle this in a less… Pointy way.” 

She shrugged and pulled her sleeve back down. “It’s your call.” 

“-I’d recommend talking to my sister. _VERA_ may be able to provide you with answers.”

The glass in the princess’ hand shattered. Her hearing turned hyper-acute in less than a second, as she immediately located her brother without having to search for him. Iosif and Irina backed away with practiced efficiency before Vera cut through crowds like they were mist, scowling at anyone who attempted to intercept her. 

“It’s true isn’t it? A girl was announced, not a boy.” 

“Didn’t His Majesty say how proud he was of his daughters some years back?” 

“My parents recall that as well. I wonder what this means…” 

“Hey, the name they gave us was Nikolette, right?” 

And with that, the last of Vera’s restraint went out the window. She locked onto Sir Feofan, because it was always him that could never leave well enough alone, and her fingers were around his throat before she could second guess herself. 

“W-What is the meaning of-?!”

Vera didn’t respond with words, she just hoisted the old knight upward and pressed him against the wall. 

“Your father _will_ hear of this, young princess,” Feofan snarled, somehow maintaining his foolhardy bravery.

“I’ll hear of what?” said a deep voice. Everyone in the immediate vicinity was parting to let someone through. When guests saw who it was, they bowed. Some even fell to their knees. 

“Your Majesty!” Feofan called out. He wore the relieved look of a swimmer that had finally reached shore.

“Father.” Vera acknowledged. She didn’t turn to face him, and her grip didn’t wane.

“What are you doing with Sir Feofan, Vera?” Dimitri asked, his tone that of a man inquiring after the weather.

She motioned her free hand between the knight and her brother, who looked partially amused but mostly like he wanted to cave in on himself. “He spoke of it.” 

As soon as those words left her mouth, the room’s atmosphere turned frigid as the worst winter’s night. While the amiable expression didn’t leave the king’s face, his remaining eye twitched and it’s pupil dilated. Before he could even begin to comprehend his mistake, Dimitri took hold of the knight’s ankles and pulled. Feofan fell with a thud that echoed through the dead silent ballroom. Too shocked to speak, he was dragged out through the hall’s double doors before being flung like a ragdoll. 

Dimitri turned to address his guests. “Does anyone else have a problem with my _son_?” No response. Then there was a quiet giggle from a green haired woman in the back of the room.

Archbishop and Queen Byleth clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “I think that’s enough excitement for one night. It’s getting late, and there may be snow on the way, so everyone should think about heading home.” 

As some guests began processing out, Vera embraced Nikolai. Tightly. “What did he say to you?” 

He chuckled. “It’s fine, Vera. I think he’s learned his lesson this time.” 

“Nikki, what did that bastard say? Because you had better believe that I’m getting him dishonorably dismissed. He’s crossed too many lines.” 

“Just the usual: things about the day I was born. I’m alright now, really.” 

She let him go, but brushed the hair from his light green eyes. “I’m just glad you called me over. You let people like that off the hook too often.” 

“Well,” Nikolai tucked a blonde lock behind her ear. “One of us has to be less prone to punching.” 

“Oh Father did much worse than I did. I thought he was going to kill the old bastard.” 

“He’s a better man than that,” her brother said sweetly.

___

Linhardt stifled a yawn. “Oh no. It looks like we’d better go home.” He set his still full glass down and took Caspar’s hand. 

“Didja see that shit?” Caspar whisper-yelled (because he was incapable of keeping his voice down). “Dima chucked that guy like it was nothing!” 

Mathilda von Bergliez-Hevring looked between her fathers, amused at how completely exhausted Linhardt was in the face of Caspar’s indomitable enthusiasm. She nudged her third father, Ashe, who had been lost in thought all alone for some time. He had always been prone to spacing out, but tonight had been worse than usual.

“Hm?” Ashe mumbled, still not turning to look at them. 

She frowned. “Is something wrong?” 

To Mathilda’s great surprise, it was Linhardt who came to his aid, suddenly wide awake and clearly worried about something. He wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist and Mathida had to strain her ears to catch fragments of what he said. 

“He’s not there, dear…. He isn’t real.” 

“But he looks so-” Ashe began, his voice trembling.

Eventually, Mathilda reminded herself to step toward them, but Caspar stopped her. He pulled his daughter into his chest, gently rubbing her shoulder. “He’ll be okay, Mattie. Lin’s got him.” 

This wasn’t his first episode, but it was the most intense yet. As Ashe’s breath quickened and Linhardt’s soothing words got more frantic, she leaned against Caspar and watched. 

In a trance of her own, she fiddled with the edges of her red overcoat—she had made a point to wear it tonight. When Ashe finally met her gaze, she squeezed the sleeves for a good couple of seconds. Then, she broke free from her father’s hold and hugged him. Ashe buried his face in her hair, and it wasn’t long before Caspar joined them in their embrace. 

“I’m sorry, Mattie. You shouldn’t have to… I’m sorry, guys.” Ashe’s panicked breathing had devolved into full-fledged sobs.

“Shhh. You’re fine. We’ve got you, darling. We’ve got you.” 

Mathilda noticed one of the lingering nobles staring at them, a sneer on their face. “What?!” she barked, voice booming. 

Caspar picked up on the person she was staring at and tugged all three members of his family closer. “You need something?” he growled.

The nobleman scoffed and strutted away. Mathilda fought the urge to reach for her back, where she normally kept a bow and quiver. An arrow whirling past his oversized head might teach him to mind his own business. 

She didn’t know how long they had been huddling there - twenty minutes, an hour - before Ashe finally started to come back down to earth. Mathilda bit her lip. “Should- Should I get Uncle Dimitri?” Why the hell had she, of all people, suggested that?

“No,” Ashe said without hesitation, coldness suddenly present in his bright eyes. 

“Then let’s get out of here, Dad.” She took his hand, and led them out onto the streets of Fhirdiad where a carriage was waiting. 

___

“Think of it, boy: with you as Margrave, House Gautier’s crestline would be preserved. The people would once again be reminded that it is those with the Goddess’ blessing that are fit to lead. If your halfwit brother takes charge, the crestless peons will think themselves equal to the nobility!”

Kliment heaved a deep sigh and allowed himself to be led to an empty corner of the room. Listening to him go on and on was pure torture, but he owed it to his brother to help root out anyone plotting against him. Besides, maybe Anton would let the names of other rats slip. 

“I assume there are like-minded individuals that are eager to… replace him?”

“Absolutely. Luther and Calvin assisted me in coming up with this plan. And Roland is more than willing to pay off some unsavory characters to help us accomplish this.” 

“I see,” Kliment said. “When can we start?”

Anton gave him a sleazy grin. “Whenever you’re ready, boy. You’d be the one responsible for leading Iosif into our trap after all.” 

“Of course, of course,” He made an effort to put some distance between the two of them, but Anton was incapable of taking a hint. “And how are you planning to cover this up?” 

Anton raised an amused brow. “Do you honestly think anyone besides your parents will care that a crestless upstart has turned up dead?”

Well, that was all Kliment could take for one evening. He leaned in close, to make sure his words were heard. “You know, your plan has merit, but… How do I put this? Ah! Die in a fire.” 

Kliment stormed off, leaving a sputtering Anton behind, and sought out his family. The man truly was a moron; he’d given him everything. He tapped his mother’s shoulder. “We can remove lords Luther, Calvin, and Roland from the guest list for the solstice festival.”

Ingrid exhaled and dubbed her temples. “I ought to kill those men myself.” 

“Aw honey, where’s the fun in that?” Sylvain drawled. “It’s much more entertaining to watch them squirm.”

On his part, Iosif didn’t appear even slightly upset. “I can’t say those names weren’t expected. I have people watching them, but I don’t think things are going to go as planned for those four.” 

“You know how much I hate it when you get vague, Iosif, especially when the topic is your possible murder.” 

“But, Mother,” he said far too jovially. “I love seeing your face when my vagueness comes to fruition! It’s almost as satisfying as setting people up to knock them down.” 

Kliment could feel the beginnings of a migraine as he rounded on his brother. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were _trying_ to get yourself killed.”

“Ah, but you do know better, bro,” Iosif chuckled. “Besides, what’s life without a little excitement every now and then?”

“Every now and then is every two weeks with this family.” Ingrid grumbled. 

“I like to think of it as their way of keeping me on my toes.” 

As the night wore on, and they prepared to leave, Kliment kept to trying to convince his brother of the gravity of the situation. He listed each and every assaination scheme that he had been told in graphic detail.

“...and then he’d have his men string you up by your own intestines-” 

“Are you serious?!”

“I couldn’t make this up if I tried, brother. And he was only the third one. You don’t even want to know what some of the others said.” 

Iosif cackled uncontrollably as he and his family walked through the royal palace. His mother scowled at them disapprovingly. “I fail to see what’s so funny,” Ingrid said. “Death threats aren’t something to be laughed off.”

“Mother, if I took this stuff too seriously I’d never be able to leave my room.” 

Kliment shook his head and sighed. “She is right, though. We can’t afford to lose you - not just for political reasons. Your death would destroy us, Iosif.”

His older brother pushed his amusement away and donned a _relatively_ serious expression. “I know.” He slung his arm over Kliment’s shoulder. “The fact of the matter is that half the family wants me dead, and most of them want to go through my brother to get the deed done. It isn’t funny, it’s sad.” 

Then he threw a glance at his father. “But, you have to admit, the thought of Anton sitting alone in a dark room muttering about what a nuisance I am is-pffffft!” He descended into complete hysteria again. 

Sylvain fought to keep his face neutral. They definitely had the same sense of humor. But Kliment gave him a desperate look that communicated a silent “please talk some sense into him”. He pulled Iosif ahead of the other two. 

When they were out of earshot, “Sitting alone in a dark room, scrambling for funds to afford a new suit.” 

They covered their mouths to conceal the fit of guffaws. Eventually, Sylvain regained his composure. “Unfortunately, this _does_ need to be addressed.” 

“Oh, it’s already been handled,” Iosif’s nonchalance sure was something. “I was curious about the fund shortage he was experiencing, so I talked with some of his staff. They mentioned him writing letters to someone named Cato. I went into town to see what I could learn, come to find out this guy is a smuggler.” 

Sylvain blinked. His son kept going. 

“From what I’ve gathered, he and Cato had a deal going where Anton was letting him get his hands on some good stuff from Gautier territory. But I know what you’re thinking: that still doesn’t explain the shortage—I followed the gold and figured out a deal went wrong somewhere and it took a _lot_ of hush money to shut people up. Heck, I think he’s still paying.” 

“It almost makes you feel sorry for the poor idiot,” Sylvain smirked.

“Right? I looked for a few of these witnesses, and I guess he should have paid more because it didn’t take much for me to get them talking. Combined with the letters, when we get back he can either have a not-so-fun party with some guards, or stop plotting to kill me and give me half a chance.” 

“Nice job.” The current Margrave was thoroughly impressed. 

“It was no big deal. Moral of the story is be nice to your servants and maybe they won’t be so quick to sell you out.” 

“You see, _there_ _is_ more to you than jokes, Iosif,” Kliment declared, having overheard their conversation. “I’ve seen you in court, you are an accomplished leader! So why do you always act like a fool?”

Iosif merely shrugged. “Hey, the position of Margrave is always open to you, bro.” he winked at his thoroughly-annoyed sibling.

“No, thank you,” Kliment said curtly. “It would go against everything father has done to do away with the crest hierarchy.” He huffed tiredly and looked to the starry night sky. “Besides, I can do more as a knight. I want to help people, not rule them.” He couldn’t see her, but Ingrid was practically glowing with pride.

True, there weren’t many uses for knights in peacetime, but Kliment believed that his duty wasn’t limited to fighting. He sincerely wanted to make a difference, and he knew Iosif was of the same mind. Graduation from the Officers Academy couldn’t come fast enough. 

“I cannot believe you’re admonishing me when you snuck a five-hundered page tome in with you!” 

“There is a huge difference between that and a _knife_ , Irina!”

“You could easily use either one as a weapon, so I fail to see your point!” 

The Gautier clan stopped to watch in silent mirth as Annette and Irina held a fierce debate.

“You were supposed to be taking a break from sharp objects.” 

“ _You_ were supposed to be taking a break from inhumanely long books.” 

Trailing far behind his wife and daughter was Felix, who looked like he had tuned out their quarreling a long time ago. Sylvain couldn’t help himself. 

“Quite the lively bunch you’ve got there!” He chirped. 

Felix barely had the energy to glare at him. 

“Remember guys,” Sylvain said to his family, “the assasination attempts may be bad, but Felix always has it worse.” Even Kliment and Ingrid had to laugh at that one. 

“I don’t know why we even go to these things,” Felix grumbled. “All three of us need to be doing _something_ productive to stay sane.” 

“Who do you find worse, Felix?” Ingrid asked with a chuckle. “Your daughter or Annette?”

“ _I’m_ the worst. It’s a miracle I haven’t worked myself to death yet.” 

“And here I thought you hated paperwork.” Sylvain gasped. 

“I can’t join a band of mercenaries, so it’s better than nothing.” 

___

“They’re still staring.”

“They will always stare. But life for us goes on.”

Emilia von Martritz sighed. “I just don’t see why we have to put up with it.” She stood quietly by her father’s side. 

“We don’t,” Dedue said cooly. “But there is a time and a place.”

“So I can start screaming at people when we’re outside?” 

“You know what I mean.”

They had lingered behind the mass of leaving guests so Dedue could wait on his liege, but there were some stragglers who were intent on making them as uncomfortable as possible. If Emilia had her way, she would give as good as she got, but she respected her father too much to dishonor him in public.

“How can you stand all this?” 

“Years of practice, and respect for His Majesty.”

It was times like these when Emilia wished she had stayed at Garreg Mach with her mother, Mercedes; conversation would be more stimulating at the very least. Dedue was a man of few words, and she could accept that. Really, she could. What she couldn’t fully wrap her mind around was his willingness to bend over backwards for people who treated him like this. And she had never come to terms with his expectation for her to do the same. Maybe he had years of practice, but Emilia didn’t want to become so accustomed to this treatment that it stopped fazing her. 

“How much longer is _His Majesty_ going to take?” She did her best to keep the growing irritation out of her tone. 

“As long as he deems necessary.” 

She just barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. The sooner Emilia got back to the monastery the better. “Every time I see you, I think something will be different…” 

“What?”

“Nothing, Father. It isn’t important.” 

___

—Sauin Village, the Alliance Territories—

The stars were brightest during the Ethereal Moon. Most people admired the month’s glowing white namesake, but Bran Kirsten had always been drawn to the stars that glittered like precious sequins in a black tapestry. He liked to draw lines between them and make his own constellations. 

Tonight was no different. Bran fiddled with his bowstring before he heaved a long-suffering sigh. There was no point in further delaying the inevitable; he shouldered the deer he’d shot hours ago and began to walk home. 

He passed three farmhouses along the way, all long-since abandoned. Their facades were burnt charcoal, and wildlife had claimed whatever the fires left unscathed. The Empire hadn’t shown any mercy during their march to Derdriu, and folks were still suffering because of it.

In the distance, the inn’s lit windows shone across the landscape like a lighthouse. Time certainly flies when you’re - well not having fun exactly, maybe distracted was the better word. On his way to the cabin behind the lodge, Bran noticed that - as usual - the stables weren’t even close to full. Sauin wasn’t exactly a tourist destination, so the Kirstens had to make do with what little business they got. And that meant sending either Bran or Nora out foraging.

When Bran stepped over the threshold, he was greeted with his family sitting around the fireplace, the picture of domesticity. Nora was trying to separate the twins, Ignatz and Hester - no doubt they were fighting over the teddy again. Mother was feeding the fire and laughing heartily, fondly calling them “her little monsters”. Father was passed out in his wingback chair and snoring lightly, a bit of drool trailing down his chin. 

The scene brought a bittersweet smile to Bran’s face. His family had always been a wild buch, blurs of ginger and blonde tearing through the village and raising hell. Meanwhile, he stuck out from their brood like a sore thumb; his mop of raven-black hair, dark rimmed eyes, and scrawny build made him the misfit of the village. Bran had always looked sickly, which was perhaps why few people asked him for laborious favors. 

But the differences went beyond the physical. Bran’s countrymen, his family, had moved on from tragedy. They healed the scars left over from the war and found new purposes in life. Bran couldn’t bring himself to do that, but Goddess knew he’d tried. 

Even though locals professed to be living life to the fullest, Bran had detected a recurring sentiment everywhere he looked. He had seen it the sunken eyes of orphaned farmhands, the ruins of once modest villages, and families like his own that were barely hanging on: his people were broken, and day by day Bran’s desire to do something about it grew ever stronger.

That, more than any physical oddity, was what made Bran feel like an outsider looking in on such a happy gathering. He couldn’t content himself with a simple life; he knew there was something inside of him that was broken, and had resigned himself to that realization a long time ago.

Still, he envied his siblings so much. They weren’t worried about the hardships around them, and didn’t spend their days obsessing over what could have been. His kin were satisfied with the hand they had been dealt and lived their lives as well as they could. Not for the first time, Bran wondered: _What’s wrong with me_?

Without announcing his presence, he sidestepped his siblings and left the game on the kitchen table. Bran then made his way upstairs, going to bed without supper. No one noticed.

___


	2. Returning to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s nothing more nerve-wracking than seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

30th of Ethereal Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

After two hard days of travel, the sight of Garreg Mach Monastery was more relieving than awe inspiring. Everyone in the group that had departed from Fhirdiad was eager to get back to either school or work.

“So, Father,” Vera began. “I know you’re only staying because of the summit, but… Do you think you’ll have time for me to best you in a match?”

Dimitri grinned at his eldest child. “I’ll make time,” he said without hesitation.

“In the meantime, both of you should probably try not to bludgeon anyone on my behalf.” Nikolai teased.

“I won’t so long as nobody proves to be deserving of a bludgeoning,” Vera chucked.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook once your father leaves,” Byleth said, voice mildly stern. “Or did you forget that I live here for most of the year?”

Nikolai groaned. “There goes all my late night romantic rendezvous.”

Vera shook her fist at the heavens. “There goes my plan to run away.”

Byleth wore that tiny smile of hers. “I think we’re in for a fun year, if nothing else.”

Not too far away, Irina grumbled as she trudged beside her parents toward the gates of Garreg Mach. “Why can’t I be a full time soldier yet?”

“Education is important!” Annette chimed, seeming happy as ever to be back at school.

Irina gave her father a sideways glance. Felix shrugged. Annette had long since given up on trying to interpret their silent signals.

When they were a few feet away from the entrance, Annette immediately started drilling her daughter. “Do you have all your books?”

“Mother, this isn’t my first year.”

The ginger crossed her arms. “Do you?”

“Yes, Mother. You reminded me last night. And this morning. And on the way here.”

“Your studies are important, but don’t forget to eat three meals a day.”

“I could say the same to you.”

They glared at each other, but their gazes lacked any actual malice. Then they hugged. Felix almost laughed at that—his wife and daughter had always possessed an… interesting relationship to say the least. Irina pulled away first, giving her father a nod. He returned the gesture, and she went inside.

Annette poked him in the arm. “You know, you two could stand to try words out once in a while.”

“Eh. This way works best for us.” Felix assured.

She gave her husband a knowing smile and took his hand in hers. “What I would give for you to have a conversation without swords.”

Felix gave her a gentle squeeze. “What I would give for you two to stop constantly fretting over each other.”

Nearby, Ingrid and Sylvain were seeing their sons off.

Ingrid kissed each of her boys on the forehead. “Try not to get killed. Please.” Who knew if the assassins would attempt something at Garreg Mach? And, of course, she couldn’t rule out teenage recklessness.

Iosif gave her his trademark charming smirk and wink. “You know me, Mom,” he said, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Beside him, Kliment couldn’t hold back an eye roll; this was a sincere moment, damnit. He elbowed his elder brother in the ribs, not caring that his parents were right in front of them, and offered a reassuring smile.

“We will, Mother,” he said. Kliment cast a wry sideways glance at a wheezing Iosif.

“Ditto,” he eventually got out.

Sylvain didn’t bother holding in his laughter. He never tired of watching his boys interact, even if they were up to the most mundane of things. Theirs was a relationship that he never had, but yearned for so badly in his childhood.

“Don’t break too many hearts, okay?” he joked. Kliment scoffed while Iosif grinned in mock mischief.

“I assume that’s meant for him,” Kliment pointed at his brother, “as my lovelife is nonexistent.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Dad. I may joke about it, but I’m no flirt.”

“Thankfully,” Ingrid muttered, eyes pointed skyward in gratitude.

Across the yard, the Bergliez-Hevring family was bidding goodbye to Mathilda.

“You all set?” Linhardt asked.

“Yes, Pop,” said Mathilda.

“You know to write to us if anything happens?”

“I will, promise.”

Linhardt hummed in satisfaction. “Right. I love you, Mattie - remember that.” He turned to his husbands. “Alright, we can leave now.”

Ashe chuckled before he realized that they were missing someone. “Wait, what happened to Caspar?”

Mathilda heard a rustle in the grass behind her, and immediately tensed. She dropped her rucksack, adjusted her footing, and managed to turn just in time to grab her pouncing father, throw him over her shoulder, and pinned him to the ground.

“Aw hell…”

“Found you, Papa.” she said.

Off to the side, Linhardt let out a long, heavy groan. “Honestly Caspar, I thought you’d have grown out of roughhousing by now.” He paused to consider for a moment. “Actually, never mind. I should have realized that you’ll always be a man-child.”

Caspar gave a watery smile and sniffled. “Aw, my baby’s growing up so fast.” He stood and wrapped her in a tight embrace, one she wholeheartedly returned. “You’re gonna do great here,” he said. Ashe sighed and shook his head fondly at their exchange.

When they had separated, Ashe stepped forward hesitantly. “Here, I uh-” he offered her a bag of what she knew had to be cookies, “I made them for you before we left. In case you get homesick.” He scratched the back of his head shyly, clearly nervous about how she would react.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Mathilda’s face. “Thank you, Dad,” she said and meant it. “You didn’t have to go to all the trouble, but thank you so much.” Ashe’s own smile was as bright and brilliant as the sun.

Not far from the main doors stood Dedue and his daughter Emilia, exchanging blunt, awkward goodbyes.

“Your mother will be working in the infirmary should you have need of her.”

“I’m well aware, Father. She’d sleep there if she were allowed.”

Emilia suppressed a grin. Her father had been much more talkative than usual today. She supposed he had never actually been the one to see her off before.

“Are you…” She looked around. Everyone else was busy with their farewells. “will you be going back to Duscur?”

Dedue gave a solemn nod. “There is still rebuilding to complete.”

“Can I,” a pause, “might I accompany you some day?”

They held eye contact for a long, long time. Emilia relented. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Her father took her face in his large, calloused hands. “I know how much you long to see your homeland,” he ran a thumb over her cheek, “and it’s selfish of me to keep it from you, but… I want you to see Duscur the way I did when I was younger. Beautiful, not battered the way things are now.”

She relaxed into his grip. “Do you really think it will ever be the same?”

“No. But hopefully, in time, things will be better than they once were.”

Emilia laced her fingers through his. “I’ll write to you.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

___

“Tell me something, guys. Is there anything on this earth that’s better than a fine meal with friends?” Iosif posed.

“I can name ten different things right now.” Irina took a bite of roast pheasant with a resigned expression. She was stuck here until the next break.

“Hopefully none of which involve stabbing,” said Kliment over a glass of water.

“Very funny.”

Emilia raised an eyebrow. “Do you see anybody laughing? That was not a joke.”

“Well, I suppose you need to be funny in order to make jokes,” Irina sassed and made a rude gesture at Kliment. He feigned offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Why I never! You dare insult House Gautier?”

“Oh she dares!” Mathilda grinned from further down the table. “Whatcha gonna do about it, Klem?”

Kliment folded his arms and pouted. “Your parents will be receiving a strongly worded letter.”

Iosif pointed an accusatory finger at Irina. “One from both of us!”

“It’s amazing how little you’ve matured even after all these years,” Emilia mused.

Mathilda gave her a light kick. “You know you love us.”

“Only because no one else will,” she said with a smirk.

“I’d watch your words around Mattie,” Nikolai said as he and his sister joined their friends. “If she passes the Brawler certification before the mock battle, you can kiss your butt goodbye.”

“But you’ll be there to heal us, won’t you?” Iosif batted his eyes at the prince.

Nikolai stared blankly at him. “If I have to Rescue you more than twice, you’re on your own.”

Beside him, Vera guffawed and slapped him on the back.

“Don’t think that doesn’t apply to you, too.”

“Oh really?” Vera smirked. “And who will protect you from advancing enemies?”

“I can protect myself. I didn’t learn the sword for nothing.”

“You barely practice. For all we know, you’ve gotten rusty and are trying to hide it.”

“Oooh, is that a challenge I hear?” Mathilda leaned forward in her seat, her eyes wide in excitement.

Nikolai huffed. “I doubt it. My sister’s great with a lance, but she doesn’t know what end to hold a sword by.”

“Ouch,” Irina mockingly grimaced. “I could always give my lady some pointers?”

“I don’t think that would work out,” Vera replied. “You swing too quickly for the human eye to follow.”

“If only I could take notes as fast,” Irina moaned, pushing her food around her plate.

Iosif nudged her. “You’ll never get your Swordmaster certification with that attitude.” He gestured at Kliment across from him. “Look at my bro, he’s already a Wyvern Rider! Just imagine what you could accomplish with a similar work ethic!”

“Okay, in total fairness,” Kliment sprinkled a good amount of salt over his meal, “it just sort of happened.”

“You always say that, and yet I am still no closer to understanding the how behind it,” Emilia grunted in annoyance.

“I happened to befriend a wild Wyvern.”

“Still doesn’t explain anything.”

“In all seriousness,” Nikolai said with a wide smile, “I’m glad to be back here with all of you. The monastery can be pretty boring the rest of the year.”

“Then you should spend more time at the castle,” Vera insisted.

The prince sighed, an unimpressed look etched across his features. “You know why that’s a bad idea, Vera. The incident at the ball speaks for itself.”

Mathilda scowled. “People need to mind their own damn business.”

“Tell me about it,” groaned Iosif. “The world would be much better off.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Emilia stabbed her fork into a chunk of pheasant.

A frustrated mood clouded the table before Nikolai perked up. “Well, at least school will be a pleasant escape from all that nonsense.” He turned to Vera with a curious look in his eye. “And this summit should prove interesting as well. I never knew that Father attended the Academy with the Shah of Almyra until recently.”

Vera gained a thoughtful expression. “Yeah, it’s weird to think about, isn’t it? Years ago, all three leaders of Fódlan were educated together.”

“And we all know how that ended,” Mathilda murmured; she had suddenly lost her appetite. “So, let’s discuss something else, yeah?”

The night carried on with relative normalcy. Friends reconnected and carried high hopes for what the coming year had in store for them.

  
___

It was late. The whole monastery was sleeping except for Vera. She was in the training grounds practicing her lunges and feints with a silver spear. Whenever sleep evaded her, a bit of extra training could help tire her out.

“Trouble sleeping?”

The princess chuckled and wiped sweat from her brow. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she retorted.

“Mind if I join you?” Dimitri asked.

Vera smirked and threw him a nearby lance. “Not at all.”

They assumed low stances, stared each other down, and lept into action with the speed of lions. “Is there something in particular that brought this on?” her father asked between blows.

“Nothing I can think of. Maybe I’m just worried about classes or something,” she grunted as she parried a particularly strong hit.

“Ha,” Dimitri covered a gasp with a laugh as he jumped back and away from a wide swing. “I long for the days when all I had to worry about was homework.”

“Oh, I don’t think you really miss Professor Hanneman’s assignments.”   
  


“Believe me, daughter, I would take a thousand essays over a nerve-wracking meeting with a schoolmate I haven’t seen in a decade.”

“Hey, Father?” Vera thrust her lance upward to meet a downward strike.

“Yes?”

She bit her bottom lip. “What makes someone a good king?”

For a brief moment, they paused their match.

Dimitri panted heavily and thought long and hard before responding. “I ask myself that question every day,” he said. “I think, at its core, being a ruler is about service. Like a soldier serves the public, so too does a king.” Without warning, he resumed his stance and leaped forward. “We can never lose sight of that.”

Vera was just fast enough to guard. “Do you think I’ll be a good queen?” She gritted her teeth. Their weapons were locked and she had to push against him with all her might to keep from losing ground.

Her father breathed a laugh. “That we’re having this conversation is proof enough of that. Self-doubt is a double edged sword. Under the right circumstances, it can drive you to be better-”

All of a sudden, the shafts of their lances shattered like glass, and both father and daughter fell unceremoniously to the sandy ground.

“Wh-What the hell?” Vera saw the Crest of Blaiddyd flash briefly before it faded away. “Oh my Goddess... Why did I have to inherit this of all things from you?”

Dimitri chuckled nervously as he stood up. “There are far worse things that you could’ve inherited,” he said and offered her his hand.

She let him haul her up. “But why did it have to be the Blaiddyd Crest? I swear, this thing is more trouble than it’s worth.” Vera dusted herself off.

The king scooped up their weapon fragments and dropped them into a rubbish bin. “You’re better off than I was at your age,” he assured her. “There wasn’t a single training session where I didn’t break something.”

Vera gave him a skeptical look. “Father. Did you see me spar with Gilbert as a child? I launched that poor man so many times.”

Dimitri threw his head back in mirth. “At least you didn’t break him in half.”

“No, but it was a close thing.” They began their trek from the training grounds back to the dormitories.

“Gilbert has been through far worse, believe me,” he said with a faintly grim expression.

She recognized that face, and knew to immediately pick the mood back up. “Do you remember that phase I went through where I was afraid to hold anything?”

“Hm, yes.” His smile returned. “Anything including Nikolai.”

Vera couldn’t help laughing heartily at the memory. It just seemed so silly now. “Do you remember the day you and Mother walked in on us both sobbing our eyes out because I refused to hug him?”

Dimitri groaned good-naturedly. “Thank the Goddess for your mother. I had no clue how to handle that situation.”

Her amusement increased. “And when you both tried to soothe me I just started screaming about not wanting to touch anything ever again.”

“Oof, that… was a long night. My anxiety kept me awake more than your crying.”   
  


By now, they had finally reached the dorms. Before they parted ways, Vera knew there was something she had to do. She threw herself into him. “I love you forever, Papa.”

Dimitri smiled fondly and stroked her hair. “And I love you too, you little devil.”

  
___

31st of Ethereal Moon, Year 1202

Nikolai hadn’t made a passing comment to his sister the previous night, he was genuinely curious about the inner workings of the summit. Not merely as a prince, but as a teenager as well. The private meeting between his father and Shah Khalid was set to take place around lunch, and he desperately wished that he could be a fly on the wall. 

“Can anyone remind the class whether it is more effective to repeatedly use low cost Heal spells, or expend more energy casting something like Recover or Physic?” It was easy for Professor Flayn to notice that Nikolai was distracted: he always sat in the front row after all. “Nikolai, would you like to give us an answer?”

The young royal started, but tried to play it off as a back stretch. He heard Emilia giggle from beside him, but refrained from glaring at her. “I’d say that it depends on the circumstance and severity of the injuries,” he said, quickly regaining his wits. “Heal can be reserved for minor wounds that aren’t a huge deterrent to combat performance, while it may be best to opt for advanced spells when wounds are major.”

Flayn smiled at him sweetly. “That is very well said,” she responded and turned back to the chalkboard. Nikolai let out a silent sigh of relief before giving a smug-faced Emilia the glower he’d been saving. She kept her eyes on the professor.

Thankfully, the bell rang after a few more minutes. Would he have time to eat? No, it would be best not to chance it. He gathered his materials and made a beeline for the Cardinal's Room on the second floor. In his haste, he collided with Kliment on the stairs and papers went flying everywhere.

“The Dining Hall is in the other direction,” the redhead snarked as he gathered his things.

“I’m well aware,” Nikolai replied, handing him a dropped homework assignment. “But this way holds much more intriguing things.”

Kliment’s brows raised. “Am... Am I correct in assuming you aren’t talking about the library?” he questioned hesitantly.

“Who knows?” Nikolai shrugged, grabbed his last item, and hurried off.

When he finally reached his destination, he was surprised to find that he was not alone. “M-Mathilda?” he asked, so shocked he forgot to keep his voice down.

The slightly taller girl “eeped!” in fright before offering him an affronted look. “Shh! Do you want them to hear us?!” she hissed.

“But what are you doing here?”

“I imagine we’re here for the same reason,” she smirked. “For the simple joy of listening in on what we aren’t supposed to hear.”

“T-There’s more to it than that!” he protested, although there really wasn’t.

“Relax, Your Highness. Your secret is safe with me. Now get over here. They’re starting the negotiations.”

He abandoned all shame and got down on his knees beside her. “Have they said anything yet?” he whispered excitedly.

“Nothing important. Keep quiet.”

And so the two students listened, utterly unprepared for what they would end up hearing.

  
___

Claude had changed so much. To be fair, that was to be expected; time was a cruel mistress. But where Dimitri liked to think that he still maintained some semblance of youth, Claude looked incredibly worn and tired. His beard had grown patchy over the rest of his face, and there were noticeable bags beneath his eyes.

As the other politicians left to allow them space to negotiate in private, a heavy silence descended upon the room. It was an unnerving quiet—the kind filled to the brim with unspoken words: words that were, perhaps, never meant to see the light of day.

Eventually, Dimitri spoke, not without hesitation. “It’s good to see you again, Claude.”

And there it was, that familiar smile that never quite reached Claude’s emerald eyes. This time, however, there seemed to be less of an effort to keep up appearances. “Heh, it’s been a while since anyone’s called me that. It… sure is something to see you again, Your Majesty.”

“O-Oh! Would you prefer Khalid-?”

“Whatever feels right to you.”

There was a pause that threatened to morph into that dreadful silence again. It was Claude who broke it this time.   
  


“How’s the family?” he tried.  
  


Dimitri brightened at the topic. “Nikolai’s proficiency for healing is something to behold, and Vera’s skill with a lance will soon surpass mine. I’m proud to call them my children.”   
  


“And Byleth isn’t here because…?” Claude trailed off, meaning clear in his delivery.   
  


“She had a meeting of her own to attend.” Suddenly, the King very much wished his wife was with him.   
  


“...Right.”

Dimitri knew he should at least attempt to keep the mood up. “And what of you? Surely you have children of your own to gush over.”

Claude shook his head apathetically. “Nope,” he said. “No wife either.”

That was a genuine shock. “After all this time, I would’ve thought there’d be some pressure for you to-”

“Many have tried to win me over.” They could both feel the underlying: ‘But none of them were you. None of them were Byleth.’

Another horrendous pause. It was Dimitri’s turn to say something.

“Should we get down to business, then?”

Pain etched itself across Claude’s face. “Really, Dima?” he huffed. “That’s the best you can do?”

“I’m… sorry, what?”

His friend grew increasingly frustrated. “When we last saw each other, you were tearing people apart, and “let’s get down to business” is the best you can offer now? Gods, what the hell happened to you?”

Dimitri didn’t know how to answer that. “... What would you have me say?”

“I-I don’t know.” Claude was starting to tear up. “Honestly, I don’t know what I want from you.”

The King tried approaching, but the man opposite him flinched away. “Claude…”

He laughed humorlessly and wiped frantically at his eyes. “It’s cliché, but you took everything from me. My friends, my heart... Back then I asked, fucking pleaded with you, to stand with us against the Empire. Then you just up and vanished for five years, and when you finally showed your face again…” Claude shook his head, as if trying to snap out of his grief. “Now, when I have nothing left to aspire to, you offer an olive branch.”

“I… You know what made me that way.”

Claude slammed a hand onto the table with enough force to startle them both. “Maybe your Lions accepted that excuse, but not me,” he growled. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost people, let alone to the Tragedy? I am so tired of that being an acceptable reason for what you did.”

“…”

“I’d like to see you use that excuse on Lorenz, whose father forced him to defend Myrddin to his dying breath. Or Lysithea, who burned so brightly and faded too fast. Or Marianne, a girl that wouldn’t hurt a fly. Or Ignatz, who just wanted to see the world at peace.” Every name was a punch to the stomach. “Do you think they would be satisfied with, ‘I lost my family, NOW EVERYONE FUCKING BURN’? Yeah, they can rest easy now because that justifies everything.”

Dimitri did his best not to cry. He didn’t deserve to. “Claude… Please.”

“I said the same thing to you back then,” For once, Claude held no such reservations about showing how much he was hurting: his tears flowed freely. “I begged you.”

“I know,” Dimitri began, inserting as much guilt as possible into his words. “And I want to move past that-”

“Because you can’t stand the thought of someone holding you accountable?” Claude snarled like a rabid dog. “Of someone who refuses to hold your blood soaked hands and say it’s all okay?!”

“Claude!”

All too soon, the flood of emotion dried up, and the leader of Almyra replaced the broken, sobbing boy from mere moments ago.

“I’ll save you some time,” said the Shah, his stare stony and voice ice cold, “Almyra will outlaw all raids on Fódlan’s Throat under penalty of death. I’m sure such an extreme solution is to your liking.”

Dimitri hastened to respond. “That should- That works.”

Claude turned on his heel and walked away. Before he left, he offered one last sentiment, his back to Dimitri: “And Your Majesty? Tell Teach I said hi.”

  
___

“Wha- what- what-” Nikolai desperately tried to form a sentence, but he kept blanking out. Next to him, Mathilda looked to be in just as bad shape. She was shaking, and actually scrambled away from the door.

His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. All he could do was stare dumbfounded at the woodgrain in front of him. Only when the both of them heard the metallic click of a door knob did their legs decide to work.

Mathilda bolted. She jumped from her knees and sprinted down the hall, practically soaring over the steps. Nikolai dove for the common room next door, knocking against a table in the process. He curled up and tried to make himself as small as possible, even after the approaching footsteps had faded away.

He stayed that way for at least an hour, maybe more. The sound of someone calling his name was incredibly jarring.

“Nikolai. What, um… What are you doing down there?” Kliment was squatting beside him, torn between confusion and worry as he beheld his prince cowering under a table.

Nikolai stared up at him like a frightened rabbit and slowly crept out from his hiding place. “I fell asleep.” It was a miracle that he managed to get his voice under control.

“Under a table.” His friend blinked slowly with a blank look.

“I was tired.” He didn’t mean to snap, but it wasn’t possible for him to keep calm. Not after that. Kliment couldn’t suppress his flinch at the rough answer, which only made Nikolai feel worse. “I’m sorry, Klem. I didn’t exactly sleep well, as you may have guessed.”

“It’s alright.” Kliment straightened up and dusted off his immaculate uniform. “You… You should probably get some rest in an actual bed,” he suggested. It was an incredibly stupid thing to say, but he didn’t know how to navigate the apparently delicate situation.   
  


“Yeah,” Nikolai panted. “I’ll, uh, go do that.”

  
___

The forest was never ending and impossibly dark. Nikolai could barely see a foot in front of him as he tried to find his way. And all the while, the screams - those horrid death cries - echoed through the woods and surrounded him.

“AAAAAAAAGH!”

They pierced through his skull, seeped into his veins. Cries of those begging to be put out of their misery.

“No, no- PLEAAAAAAGH!”

Or perhaps pleading for a chance to see their loved ones one last time. There was agony everywhere, yet it was guiding him—telling him to go deeper into the cesspool of hell; to find the source of all this torment.

Nikolai didn’t walk much further before he fell. Then he was slipping downhill through an overwhelming void of pure black. He saw flashes of things, brief glimpses of faces before they were rendered unrecognizable. Then he hit something that definitely wasn’t the ground. He heard a dull, weak thud and a gurgling moan; it was a heartbeat.

Thump… thump… thum- Gone.

He slowly lifted his gaze and was met with a soldier choked on his own blood, his dull, desperate eyes boring into Nikolai’s soul.

“A-” he tried to shriek, but no sound came. It felt like the forest wasn’t letting him. What right did he have to scream in the face of horrors he had never endured?

As he stood he found another body, then another, and- his blood ran cold at the sight: a massive mound of corpses, so many of them mangled messes of organs and crushed limbs. And the smell. Seiros, the very air reeked of rotten meat and dried blood. He doubled over and dry heaved, the wretchedness too much for him.

There was nothing he could do for them, no magic in Fódlan that could even begin to help them now. No spell that would meld their flesh back together or snap the twisted bones back into place. Nothing that could make them look like the men and women they once were.

Nikolai clenched his fists and began to back away. It wasn’t of his own will. Something he couldn’t see was shoving him backwards with unimaginable force. One final shove, and his momentum stopped. Someone’s presence had halted his unwilling retreat. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breath. Whoever was behind him… The gore wasn’t phasing them—it had to be their work.

What manner of man? What manner of beast? A hand, or claw, or talon dug it’s grip into his shoulder. He was about to find out.

The thing behind him spun him around at such an alarming speed his vision blurred. When he could focus again, when he dared to look up…

A smile: one that he had known for as long as he’d been alive. “Father?”

And then, mercifully, Nikolai woke up.

  
___

A mercy or not, he woke up screaming. His sheets were soaked through with sweat and the pillows had been shoved away.

The first thing Nikolai saw was Vera’s panicked face, then the equally concerned expressions of the guards behind her.

He threw himself off his bed and scurried to the other side of his dorm.

“Nikki!”

“Your Highness?!”

The bright light of Seraphim began to illuminate the room.

“Nikolai! Stand down!” shouted Vera.

Nikolai blinked. He hadn’t realized his arm was outstretched, let alone that his magic was flaring up. Seraphim: the light that vanquished creatures of the night. It made sense that he’d called upon it.

“I-I’m-” He lowered his hand and tears began to fall unbidden. “I’m sorry, I-” Nikolai collapsed to his knees and hugged himself.

Vera ran to him, gathering her brother in her arms. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be alright.”

All the guards took that as their que to leave, and quietly left the royal siblings alone.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Vera eventually whispered.

He shook his head and buried himself in her chest.

  
___

—Sauin Village, the Alliance Territories—

“I’m sorry, I still can’t get over how big you’ve gotten,” Claude chuckled.

Bran huffed, blowing his hair from his eyes. “Haven’t grown enough if you ask me,” he grumbled. “I’m _barely_ five foot four.”  
  


His father, Raphael, laughed heartily. “If ya ate more, you’d put some meat on those bones!”

“Your dad does have a point.” Bran’s mother, Leonie, smirked as she put away the last of the dishes. “One sec,” she said and went to the foot of the stairs. 

“Nora!” she shouted.

“Yeah, Ma?”

“Are the twins asleep?”

“They _were_ ‘till you started yelling.”

Raphael and Claude failed to smother their sniggering. Leonie leveled a glare that would make a bear tremble. Bran smiled softly at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Well, do your best to fix it!” she called before returning to the table. 

“So, you came to Fódlan for that summit thing, right?” Raphael asked. “How’d, uh, that go? You and Dima got along, right?”

For an instant, Claude’s face flickered between a false smile and outright melancholy. He decided on the grin, even if it wasn’t as convincing as his typical fakes. “We settled the border dispute. He’s… Doing well.” 

“Hmph, that’s one way of putting it.” Leonie grimaced and took a gulp of ale.

Claude coughed. He really couldn’t take discussing this again. “You know, Bran,” the Shah turned towards the boy. “He has a son around your age.” 

Bran quirked an eyebrow. “You trying to play matchmaker or something?” he snarked.

All three adults smiled in light mirth. 

“I wouldn’t try it,” Claude said. “His sister might throttle you.” 

“She’d have to catch me first.” Raphael grinned and tousled his boy’s hair. “Besides,” Bran said, “I pity the poor sap unfortunate enough to get hitched to me.”

“Anyway, how have things been for you guys lately?” Claude said, a little more seriously. “If you need anything, just say the word and-”

Leonie held up her hand. “We appreciate it Claude, but we’re managing just fine,” she assured him with an easygoing look in her eyes.

“Yeah!” Raphael chimed in. “Business has actually been better this year! More and more nobles are coming out here for trips and stuff!” It wasn’t a complete lie, but the fact of the matter was that work for them was inconsistent at best. Their dinner had been poached venison, after all. 

Bran turned to hide his pinched expression; they wouldn’t be having these problems with fewer mouths to feed. Nora was better at hunting anyway, and she had more than proved herself ready to take over the inn when the time came. Twins, Ignatz and Hester, had a bright future to look forward to - one with better schooling and thus greater opportunities. Bran was the middle child: he had nothing to inherit and very little to offer. 

The boy shook his head; this wasn’t the time or place for moping, and it was rude to ignore guests.

“If you say so,” said Claude. Bran could tell that he saw through their tale, but he knew when to stop pushing. “So kid,” the brunette donned his classic smirk. “Ever seen an Almyran Wyvern before?” 

A rare full grin spread across Bran’s face. “Can’t say that I have,” he said, already standing up.

Outside, a loud roar shook the foundations of the house. Bran sprinted out the door and was greeted by the sight of a massive, winged beast. It’s hide was as white as snow, and it had intelligent violet eyes that tracked his every movement. 

“Say hi, Adira!” 

“Is it me, or is she bigger than the house?” 

Adira puffed air through her nostrils, blowing both Bran and Claude’s hair back as she stepped nearer. 

“Bran! It’s rude to draw attention to a lady’s weight.”

“I meant it as a compliment, I swear,” Bran said, breaking into a slight nervous sweat. He took a slow step forward, and barely kept from jumping when Adira nuzzled her snout into his chest. She thumped her tail against the ground; it would have been endearingly dog-like if not for all the grass that went flying everywhere

“You are _so_ spoiled.” 

Adira huffed at her master, nosed further into Bran. 

“I pet you all the time!”

Leonie snickered behind them. “Looks like she’s got a new favorite, Claude.” Back in the house, Raphael guffawed so loudly that they could all hear him outside. Claude play-pouted and crossed his arms with a childish huff.

“See if I ever give you another belly rub,” He stuck his tongue out at the Wyvern. She returned the gesture. Bran wore a toothy grin; moments like these reminded him that life was always worth living.

___


	3. Clash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it all begins.

8th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, Outskirts—

Mathilda pounded her training gauntlets together as she paced her team’s area on the field, waiting for the signal to start. She was fine. Some random information about the King apparently being just as ruthless as the soldiers that mowed down her family didn’t bother her at all. It was all _fine_. 

“Why are we even holding a tournament,” Irina said, giving her sword a bored twirl. “The other homeroom teams are in no condition to fight, let alone run around a field.”

And that comment was all well and good too. It’s not like there was a reason _why_ they were at a physical disadvantage. 

One of her teammates scoffed. “You’d think they skimped on breakfast and got an hour of sleep.”

At least Emilia seemed just as irritated by that one. “Your arrogance will only lead to an easy defeat.” 

“Pfft, unlikely,” the student muttered as he lazily spun his lance.

Again, Mathilda grinded her gauntlets together. Harshly enough for Irina to take note. 

“Eager to get out there?” 

“You could say that.” It took every fiber of willpower not to punch her for being a Fraldarius, and then deck herself for being aligned with the only surviving Adrestian noble families. 

The horn blared and suddenly everything was very much _not_ okay. 

Of course, Irina assumed the leadership role effortlessly. “Elmer, Rolf: take the enemy’s left flank - use the trees! Emmy, Mattie: I need- Mathilda?”

Irina saw her friend go entirely red faced before charging ahead of the group. On her part, Mathilda wasn’t thinking much. The only thoughts that actually registered in her mind were everything being _not_ at all okay and that she suddenly hated everyone here including herself. 

She needed something to hit that would hit her back. 

___

The outskirts of the Monastery had undergone some renovation: the battlefield was still a mass of trees and grass, but there was now extensive space for faculty and students to watch from. 

“Huh, look at that Mattie go,” Vera grinned. “She’s dropping them left and right!”

Mathilda was certainly impressive, and a bit mesmerizing, whenever she got going. Her movements were fluid but brutal: intercepting someone’s forward thrust to twist them around, or leaping onto another student’s back to put them in a chokehold. 

Under normal circumstances, Nikolai would wonder at what brought this on. But he knew what was troubling her; it was the same issue that had been plaguing him for the past week. His nightmares, while intermittent, persisted, and doubt had begun to take root in his mind.

Iosif whistled. “She won’t be making this easier for us, that’s for sure,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “Hey Nikki, were you serious about only using Rescue twice per person?” 

Nikolai didn’t respond. Kliment slapped his brother’s back. “Well, it’s official. You’re in trouble.” He hoped nobody saw the concerned glance he had given the prince just then.

Though there weren’t many opportunities for her, Irina still proved efficient in switching between wind magic and her blade: even using them at once when necessary. Emilia’s Heal and Recover kept her allies in good condition and allowed Mathilda to continue plowing forward. 

It wasn’t long until the opposing team’s leader was down for the count, but that didn’t seem to help Mathilda calm down. If anything, it looked like the battle riled her up even more. 

“Ahem!” Flayn motioned for her homeroom to pay attention. “This means we will be facing Professor Hanneman’s class in the final round. Are you all prepared?” 

“Yes, Professor!” 

“I would like to join you. However my _brother_ ,” Flayn gave an eye roll as she said the word, “has managed to bar teachers from fighting alongside their students during mock battles.” 

“We’ll make you proud, Prof.” Iosif winked. 

Nikolai nodded absently, dreading the moment he had to set foot on that battlefield.

“Nikki, can you Silence Emilia if I get you an opening?” Vera asked. 

“Huh? Oh, sure.” 

Kliment hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Only if you’re up to it, of course.”

“What are you talking about,” Vera chuckled, “of course he is.” 

___

He wasn’t up to it. 

As soon as the trumpet sounded and his classmates began their advance, Nikolai found himself mentally wandering through that forest again. He could barely focus on moving his feet, let alone casting a spell. 

He only noticed Irina after Vera’s lance stopped her sword from hitting him. 

“Be careful!” his sister chided. 

“Right, right.” he muttered, using a quick Heal to take care of her light bruises. 

Nikolai noticed a streak of black coming up behind his sister and acted on instinct. He cast Aura in a flash, and Mathilda sprung backward in a swift dodge. Her eyes burned with anger when they landed on him; she charged with the speed and force of a mad bull.

“Klem!” Nikolai hollered.

Kliment swooped in on his wyvern, intercepting Mathilda and blowing her off course. The furious girl shifted her attention and redoubled her assault. While knuckles weren’t ideal against fliers, Kliment’s movement was hindered by the woods he had landed in. The youngest Gautier grit his teeth and prepared himself. 

This time, Nikolai noticed Irina sneaking up on him and drew his own sword to counter. Their blades locked for a brief moment, before a gale of wind began to swirl around her weapon. The gust knocked him off balance, but he pulled himself together fast enough to cast Seraphim and force space between them. Now Excalibur was billowing around Irina at full force, and she launched herself at another student, now the embodiment of a tempest. He tried to get Physic ready, but Vera came barreling in and clotheslined her. 

Although the trees shook with Kliment’s evasive maneuvers, he was keeping Malthida busy enough that Nikolai felt it was safe to assess the situation.

“Where’s Iosif?” he panted.

Vera pointed in a vague northerly direction. “The fool pushed forward. He took Leon with him. They’re probably hoping to flank them while Mattie’s occupied.”

“Nrgh, that wasn’t part of the plan,” Nikolai groaned. Suddenly, he spotted a head of white hair heading toward them. “Emmy’s given up her position,” he realized, “She’s going all in now.”

“Then let’s do something about it. You keep an eye out for Iosif. I’ll get Emilia’s attention.” 

“She’s right!” Kliment shouted, barely holding on. “Go, I’ll keep Mattie here!”

Nikolai nodded and advanced beside his sister. Peering through the trees, he finally saw Iosif and things weren’t going well. Two other students had left cover to attack him together. While that meant Emilia was alone, it left the redhead at a terrible disadvantage. And as an archer, all Leon could do to help was fire an occasional arrow from his thicket.

“For Heaven’s sake-” the prince willed Iosif to come to him, and in a flash they were side by side. “That’s one!” he scolded him. “You only get one more!” He kept moving forward, not expecting a response, as Iosif spurred his horse back into the fray.

“You ready?” Iosif asked, closing in on their opponents again. 

“Always,” Nikolai replied. 

“Good, try to get behind them,” Energy began pulsing at the future Margrave’s fingertips. “Preferably, _very_ far behind them.”

Nikolai nodded, taking off in a sprint. The opposing students stood ready to counter, but he ran right past them. He got a decent distance away, but still felt the force of Banshee when Iosif let the attack loose. Despite the fierce energy emanating from behind, Nikolai spun on his heel to evaluate the situation: they were dazed, but not quite down. A sword hilt to the back of the head and a single arrow from Leon took care of that. 

“Find Vera, I’ll scout out the area.” Iosif took off. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find himself in need of that second Rescue. 

Emilia had been forced to switch to an almost entirely offensive style of battle. Her axe was out and swinging, and she kept herself up to par with well placed Nosferatus. She made a point of watching out for Nikolai, not wanting to risk having her magic sealed. When Emilia spotted the elder royal sibling moving in on her, she lashed out with Abraxas. The heavenly light shone so brightly the princess had to close her eyes. 

With Vera blinded, Emilia raised her training axe for an overhead blow. However, the princess refused to go down so easily; she rolled to the side and got some space. Emilia tried a Nosferatu, but it wouldn’t work. That could only mean one thing. She turned in time to meet Nikolai’s blade with her axe, but her weapon got hooked by it. 

In a single movement, Nikolai leveraged the axe out of Emilia’s grip and kicked her in the abdomen. As soon as she hit the ground, Vera’s spear was at her throat.

“Yield.” 

The Duscur girl sighed. “Fine.” She batted the spear away. 

“ _I’m alive!_ ” someone cried from across the field. Everyone that was still conscious turned around to see a thoroughly battered Kliment, dismounted and standing on wobbly legs over a defeated Mathilda. Kliment pecked his Wyvern on the snout, and the jet black beast snorted. “You’re the best, Fenya!” 

The horns sounded in the distance. Goddess be praised, they had done it.

Professor Flynn could be heard at the top of the hill: “Yes! YES! In your face, Hanneman!!” 

“F-Flayn, please!” Seteth made an attempt to calm his sister, only to be accidentally smacked by one of her wildly flailing arms. 

___

The baths were truly a godsend. By the end of his hour-long soaking, Nikolai felt like a new man. Since the tournament ended, he had actually been feeling much better; the nightmares of the last few days seemed far off and harmless now. Nikolai wore a carefree smile as he approached his dorm, looking forward to a well-deserved rest.

“Milord,” A slender servant approached him, carrying some of his textbooks. “you left these in the common room.” 

He didn’t recall visiting the common area today, but he supposed it must have slipped his mind. “Thank you.” It was only when Nikolai sat at his desk to get some studying done that he discovered a leather bound journal mixed in with his things; he’d have to deliver it to the lost and found later. When he set the journal aside, a loose sheet of paper slipped out. The name Hubert von Vestra caught his eye. He wasn’t one to read others’ things, but that name seemed so familiar. Against his better judgement, he began to read. 

_If you are reading this letter, that means I have perished. As Her Majesty would never surrender to another, I can only assume she has fallen as well. It greatly pains me to think of this coming to pass… That said, as the survivors, I must ask you to settle certain affairs in our stead._

_You must destroy the threat that slithers in the dark. I am sure you must recall Monica and Tomas. Their allies yet live. They hold deep resentment against the children of the goddess and the people of the world, and they are biding their time until they can exact revenge. If left to their own devices, it is certain they will eventually bring unimaginable calamity and suffering to the world._

_I detected their sorcery when you retook_ _Fhirdiad_ _. I have deduced the location of their stronghold, Shambhala. You will find its whereabouts enclosed._

_There is no question that they are the enemies of everyone in Fódlan. Do not allow yourselves to forget that._

_I believe Her Majesty will be victorious… Even still, I must plan for her defeat as well. If you wish to lead this world, I challenge you to rise to the occasion and surpass my estimation of you. Such is your obligation as the victors… and the only fitting tribute to all that Lady Edelgard sacrificed._

_-Hubert von Vestra_

The paper fell from his trembling hands. This had been written either before or during the war. After all that time, surely such a dangerous threat, if it truly existed, would have been eliminated. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have heard _something_ about it? The Kingdom wouldn’t keep a defeated threat under wraps: people would want to brag about or commemorate the event. Then what did this mean? Better yet, how did a letter from a dead man end up with his school books? 

Still shaking, Nikolai lifted the notebook, and turned to a dogeared page: graphic details about a wandering madman slaughtering scores of Adrestian soldiers. For some reason, a pit was beginning to form in his stomach. 

_… found decapitated with their head mounted on a broken lance—appears to be a primitive warning. The unidentifiable remains of a general were shoved inside a suit of armor, made to look like some sort of macabre scarecrow..._

Nikolai swallowed. He turned the pages, glossing over particularly awful descriptions, the reported deaths of more familiar names. His heart was pounding when he found the section about Gronder Field. 

_… In command of the Kingdom Army… Seen slaying anyone in his path—even sympathetic members of the Alliance… individual confirmed to be one Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd._

Nikolai felt the world dip underneath him. He was sitting, but that still couldn’t stabilize him enough to keep him from crashing to the floor. 

_Among the dead are: Lysithea, Marianne, Ignatz, … and Ferdinand. I feel his loss most acutely. Her Majesty has given me time to mourn. As for the others - I cannot say that I was particularly close with the Deer during school. But they deserved better than what they received._

_I am beyond relieved that Dorothea and my darling Petra returned relatively unscathed. If I had lost her… No, it is best not to entertain such thoughts_ -

He slammed the notebook shut. What in the absolute hell had he just read? Was this some kind of twisted joke? It had to be. There was no way this kind of information would just fall into his lap if it were genuine. But it coincided with Shah Khalid’s words. Nikolai felt nauseous. An unresolved threat to all of Fódlan, his father’s apparent massacres- How was he supposed to process any of it? What was he supposed to _do_?

Wait. There was no reason to panic. He’d just talk to his father about all of it. Surely, there would be a reasonable explanation. Miraculously, he was still at the monastery; he would have been back in Fhirdiad by now if not for harsh weather on the road. Nikolai wasn’t going to waste any more time being indecisive - they needed to talk immediately.

___

Nikolai walked into the bedroom that had become his father’s temporary office and promptly abandoned decorum. “What is this.” 

Dimitri glanced up at him from a stack of paperwork. “What is… what?”

“Hubert von Vestra’s last request.” With shuddering hands, he dropped the letter and journal onto his desk. 

The King glanced over the note, going wide-eyed in the process. “I don’t- where did you get this?” 

Nikolai knew he was becoming visibly upset, but who could blame him. “That’s what you're worried about? The fact that I obtained this and not what’s written on it?”

Dimitri shook his head, looking over the letter for what must have been the fifth time. “I am _worried_ about you getting involved in affairs you don’t fully understand.” He set his sights on the notebook, and his face fell. 

“Father, I-” he tried. His voice caught and he had to start again. “This is all true, isn’t it?” 

They stayed quiet, neither actually wanting to continue the conversation, for quite a while. Every unresponsive minute further solidified the evidence in Nikolai’s mind. Had this been false, his father wouldn’t have hesitated to dismiss it. 

“Were you ever going to tell me about any of this?” 

“Nikolai,” Dimitri began, “this is an old affair that I looked into years ago. Our agents investigated, but could not find a trace of any shadowy clan or cult.”

“Did they check Shambhala?” 

“Do you have any proof that the place exists?”

“Just how thorough was this _investigation_?” Nikolai realized he was raising his voice against the king, but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“You speak of things that you have no knowledge about,” Dimitri reprimanded. 

“Do not condescend, _Father_ ,” the prince grit his teeth. “I have no knowledge because it’s been withheld from me. Along with _all of this_!” He flipped to the page detailing the events at Gronder Field. 

“Don’t presume to understand me, son,” he warned, pushing the book away.

“No, I’m through with that now,” Nikolai turned his back to his Father in the most blatant show of disrespect he had ever mustered. “Clearly, you are not the man I thought you to be.”

A tense silence passed between them. Nikolai regained his breath and looked at his father pleadingly, as if hoping against all hope that he was wrong.

“If I’m wrong,” He started, taking the book into his hand. “Then read this,” the boy turned to one of the most gruesome entries regarding the madman. “And tell me it isn’t you.” 

“What is this?” Dimitri evaded, pointedly ignoring his son. “Where did this all come from?”

“You already know what’s written there, don’t you?” Nikolai inhaled a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “How many…? 

Dimitri already knew the answer, but he couldn’t stop himself. “How many what?”

There were tears welling in his eyes. “How many bodies did you mangle so far beyond recognition that their families couldn’t identify them?” 

“Don’t play that card with me!” Dimitri snapped in a moment of anger. Nikolai flinched and actually jerked back. The King’s heart broke at the sight, and he forced himself to calm. “You know the cost of war,” he sighed. “It turns brothers against each other; it breaks men, body and soul. But it must be done, the sacrifices must mean something.”

Nikolai’s jaw practically hit the floor. “The- the cost of-” He held back a scream. “What I’ve read details actions that go _far_ beyond warfare. Do you really think you can justify everything you hid, everyone you killed, with some sob speech about sacrifice?” 

“Speak plainly, Nikolai,” Dimitri said slowly. “What are you accusing me of?”

“Lying to me,” he answered without hesitation, “to Vera, and our people. Lying about the kind of man you are,” he motioned once more to the notes, “and about the threat that’s been left unchecked lurking in the shadows.” 

“You must understand, we had just won a bloody war against Adrestia. I was not about to-”

The scream that had been building finally left him. “IT’S BEEN OVER SEVENTEEN YEARS!” 

Dimitri managed to keep it together, but raised his voice in challenge. “Your mother and I will not upset the balance we fought so hard to restore! So many friends gave their lives so that we could unite Fódlan!”

Nikolai threw his head back in a hysterical laugh that was hauntingly familiar. “Yes, Father. You fought so hard, and did such a wonderful job _murdering_ all of those friends. Do you even remember their names? I’ll list them anyway, just in case one has slipped your mind after all these years. Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Petra Macneary, Lysithea von Ordelia-”

“Enough.”

“Ferdinand von Aegir, Dorothea Arnault, Marianne von Edmund, Ignatz Victor- “

“ _I said that’s ENOUGH_.”

The prince turned to leave, but not before getting in one final blow. “Years ago, you pledged yourself to understanding and avenging the Tragedy of Duscur, but I believe that you have spit on the graves of everyone who died that day.” He slammed the door behind him, not caring who heard. 

Dimitri hid his head in his hands, destroyed now that his son knew what he truly was.

___

Vera stared at the journal’s pages. She knew what she was looking at, was fully capable of interpreting the damning meaning behind every word, but at some point the world had stopped moving for her. She knew Nikolai’s hand was resting on her back: the comfort it should have provided simply wasn’t there. Vera thought back to the match she had with her father some nights ago. They had discussed what made a good king or queen, but what did it matter now that she knew she was set to inherit a broken kingdom? 

“Vera,” Nikolai whispered. “Please, say something.”

Vera could hear the words leaving her brother’s mouth. She could have come up with some vague reassurance if she tried; the princess didn’t try. 

Nikolai slowly wrapped his arms around Vera’s waist and buried his face in her side.

“Well, I guess it’s nice to know the entirety of what my crest is capable of.” 

“Please… don’t say that.”

“But it’s true.” Vera had a weak smile on her face. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Even more so in my case since I have the major crest.” 

“It’s not the power you’ve been given,” Nikolai said, “but how you use it that defines you.”

“I’ve spent all this time trying to use it the same way Father does. Arguably, the same way he _did_.” 

“Vera,” Nikolai cupped his sister’s face in his hands and gave her a stern look. “You are your own person.”

“It’s not just that.” Vera pulled away from his touch.“I’ve modeled my entire life after him. How I hold a lance, how I speak in public… He’s the one who taught me control over-” she took the spear leaning against the wall in hand and snapped it without effort. “Over _this_ . So I wouldn’t do that to _you_ one day. Face it, I am him in every aspect.” 

“Stop! Just stop,” Nikolai pleaded. 

A different kind of light appeared in Vera’s eyes, a dangerous blaze. “There _is_ a way to prove that I am not him. I can correct his greatest failure,” With that declaration, she grabbed a nearby rucksack and began throwing items into it. 

Nikolai grabbed her shoulder, but she shook him off. “You can’t stop me, Nikki.”

“I’m not trying to,” he said. “You’re taking me with you.”

Vera gave him a blank stare. “No. No you’re not.” 

“You’re not the only one ashamed of our Father.” Nikolai blocked her way out of the room. He knew he had no hope of physically stopping her; he just needed his sister’s undivided attention. “It’s my duty to right these wrongs as well. Like all things, we do this together.”

Vera regarded her brother: he had yet to come into his own as a person, and as a warrior he had little real combat experience. But, she relented, when she saw that his determination fully matched her own. 

She sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’m not happy about it, but you’ll only follow me and get yourself killed if I don’t take you along.”

Nikolai grinned and embraced Vera tightly; she still couldn’t bring herself to hold him, so her arms hung limply at her sides until he let go. 

“So, how do you plan on sneaking out of here?” he asked with a conspiratorial wink.

“I don’t plan on sneaking. I’m the crown princess: I can just order the guards to look the other way and say we’re going hunting.” 

“This might be the first time I’ll ever see you pull rank over anyone.” Nikolai hummed a laugh. “I’ll get my things. We can leave at sunset.” 

Undetected by the royal siblings, a black-haired girl was listening outside the door. She stood and, as silent as a stray draft, ran to her own room.

___

Ten minutes out from Garreg Mach, and the royal siblings finally began to breathe easier. It wouldn’t be long until someone realized that Nikolai and Vera hadn’t returned. Their best bet was to head deep into the old Alliance Territories and lay low in some speck of a town.

“How long do you estimate it’ll take us to reach Goneril lands?” Nikolai inquired, leaning forward on his horse. 

“A week at minimum, if we rarely rest.” Vera answered. She retrieved a map from her saddlebag. “There’s a garrison posted at Myrddin, so it might be wise to-”

Without warning, a large creature flew overhead, its wings kicking up a breeze as it landed a few feet in front of them. It was a wyvern. Kliment’s wyvern. Not long after landing, it’s master stepped off with Mathilda and Irina following suit. 

Vera was off her horse in a flash and she stormed toward the trio with unwavering resolve. “What the hell are you doing out here?!” she snapped. Her mood did not improve at the smirk Mathilda gave her or Irina’s dry laugh.

“I was going to ask you that, _Your Highnesses_.” Irina snarled. “What exactly do you two hope to accomplish by running off on your own?!” 

“Who said we’re running?” Vera retaliated.

Irina’s eye twitched. “You stole horses. Do we look like fools?” 

Vera growled something unintelligible under her breath, and for a second Nikolai feared she was going to pop a vein.

“Listen,” Irina began, stepping right into the princess’ space. “I’ve been training to be the shield of this kingdom for as long as I care to remember. Your sword goes nowhere without me.” Beside her, Mathilda rolled her eyes and groaned.

“You didn’t think you could leave us out of this, did you?” she said. “Wherever you guys are headed, whoever you’re fighting - you’ll need backup.”

“And how do you know that we plan on fighting?” Nikolai asked with a raised brow.

“Because, I don’t know if you know this, but I eavesdrop _a lot_.” Mathilda smiled mischievously. “And when I heard you say something about ‘correcting the king’s greatest failure’ I just had to get involved.”

Vera rounded on her. “That was a private conversation,” she seethed, her fists clenching at her side. “How the _hell_ did you know to listen in on us in the first place?!”

Mathilda’s smile wavered slightly and she fixed her gaze on Nikolai. At that moment, he knew that she couldn’t forget or ignore what they had heard during the summit. She needed closure just as much as himself and Vera.

Kliment stepped forward and placed a supportive hand on Nikolai’s saddle. “No knight would leave two royals to their own devices. And no friend would abandon two life-long companions.” 

Nikolai had to grin at that. Chivalrous as ever—even to the point of getting involved in something this insane. “Hey, Vera,” he called. “I doubt we can convince them to go back.” 

The elder sibling rubbed her temples. “The two royal siblings going missing is bad enough. Do you know what kind of attention three other nobles disappearing would attract?” 

“Emmy and Iosif are covering for us!” Matilda interjected.

“Oh, covering for you?” Vera’s tone was laced with sarcasm. “Right. They’ll definitely be able to, what, impersonate all five of us at once?” 

“No,” Kliment admitted. “But my brother is a master at spreading misinformation. With Emilia backing his story up, they should be able to point any search parties in the wrong direction.” 

Suddenly, the group heard the bells of Garreg Mach tolling in the distance. Warning bells. They needed to go. _Now_. 

“Dammit all,” Vera grumbled. She climbed back onto her horse and offered Irina a hand up. “C’mon, then!” she barked.

Kliment and Mathilda climbed onto Fenya right as the beast began taking to the sky again. “Where are we headed?”

“Goneril territory,” Nikolai tugged on his horse’s reins, and it launched into a sprint. “For now, let’s take cover in the woods!” he called out and pointed ahead. He could hear the thundering hoofbeats of Vera’s steed and the whoosh of Fenya’s wings not far behind him. They had to slow their speed once they were among the trees, yet they kept moving at a frantic pace.

___

It was some ungodly hour when heavy knocking woke Bran from his peaceful slumber. He turned to his siblings beside him - they were somehow sleeping through the incessant banging. They must have gotten it from mom and dad; those two could sleep through an explosion.

He stumbled his way downstairs, not even caring about his beadhead or the fact that he was still in a nightgown. “‘M comin’, ‘m coming!” slurred. Still the banging persisted. He lit a lantern and opened the door to the dewy night (or morning) air.

“We need a place to stay for the night.”

Bran was hit with the statement the instant he opened the door. Outside stood five disheveled kids who looked to be about his age. Upon closer inspection, he noticed they were in similar uniforms, and more importantly that they had weaponry. 

“You look like trouble.” He said bluntly, moving to shut the door. A foot kept it from closing, and a black-haired girl with pigtails in a red cloak came up to him. 

“We’re sorry about this, but our caravan ran into danger on the way to the Goneril lands. There’ve been bandits running the roads ragged lately, as I’m sure you’ve heard. We made an attempt at defending ourselves, but they took our wares and almost got away with our lives to boot.” 

“Cut to the chase, lady. Whaddaya want,” Bran tried to rub any remaining drowsiness from his eyes.

“Just lodging for the night. We’re all too shaken up to make camp out in the open. We can pay you. Please?” She certainly sounded desperate. 

Slightly more awake, Bran scanned the group a second time; their story reeked of bullshit. Those were Officers Academy uniforms, meaning these were rich kids, not merchants. He briefly considered calling them out on it, but then remembered how much they needed the business.

“Ugh, it’s too early for this shit,” he grumbled and opened the door for them. “C’mon in, I’ll get you set up.” 

The girl handed over her entire coin purse. “Will this cover the cost?” 

Bran’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “Uh, I think that’s a bit much.” 

“Take it. You’ve done us a great service, sir.” 

“If you say so.” Who was he to turn down a tip? Goddess knew they needed it. 

___


	4. This is Your Kingdom. This is You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new member joins up.

9th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202

—Sauin Village, the Alliance Territories—

The new guests were a suspicious lot to be certain; they had come from Garreg Mach without an official escort, left a gratuitous tip, and met in one room for a private discussion early in the morning. They had taken the group in, but Bran still held onto the belief that they were trouble. Which was why he found himself outside their door, peeping through the keyhole and listening intently.

Bran had managed to get a much better look at them due to the light pouring in from all the windows. The girl in red, the one he had spoken to last night, had black hair tied in pigtails that rested in front of her shoulders and her eyes gleamed a mischievous crimson. Although all five were disheveled, her uniform was by far the messiest. Her overcoat from last night was tied around her waist. 

Then there was the boy that appeared to be their leader: attractive, blonde with hair tied back, and bewitching green eyes. Compared to the others, he was short. Hell, Bran himself might’ve been a bit taller. He was soft spoken, but carried himself with clear purpose. Must’ve been nice to be so certain. 

A redhead caught his eye next. The guy had side swept short hair and minty irises. His expression was one of constant attentiveness and he stood attention like a model knight; it made him seem taller, even though he was probably about the same height as the golden-haired looker from before.

Next, Bran took note of a lady with wavy purple locks pacing the room—upon better inspection, she appeared to be the soldier of the bunch. It wasn’t even breakfast yet, and she had a sword strapped to her waist. 

Last, a tall blonde girl sporting a side braid. Her eyes were blue and… Dull. She was definitely invested in the conversation, but something about her looked off. She had a seasoned air about her; Bran detected that same aura whenever his parents brought up the war.

It was the dangerous purple haired one that jolted him out of his musings. “I’m sorry, WHAT-” she blurted, and Bran had to stifle a chuckle at her lack of restraint. Although he’d already heard snippets about kingdom-wide conspiracies, a secret group from the war years, and a mission to put a stop to them. Really, none of these kids were very good at keeping secrets. Maybe they were rich, but he doubted they were much else. Their quest, or whatever, was doomed from the start. 

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. He bolted upright and plastered an unassuming smile onto his face just before the door was opened.

___

It was right around sunrise when the group awoke from a bleary, dreamless slumber. Well, more accurately, when Irina forced them all awake to demand an explanation. Nikolai drowsily informed his friends of what had led to their departure only to be met with blank faces. 

Irina began pacing the small room all five of them had piled into. “I’m sorry, WHAT-”

Vera hissed at her. “ _Keep your voice down._ ” Whether she was concerned about them being overheard or still too tired to deal with raised voices was anyone’s guess. 

“It is a bit…” Kliment considered how to phrase it. “Much to take in.” 

Nikolai flipped through the journal again while Mathilda skimmed over the letter. “We know.” He said. His eyes shut at the mention of the wandering madman and he set the notebook aside. 

Mathilda fell back onto one of the room’s beds, holding the parchment over her face. “How did you even get this letter?” 

Irina was equally skeptical. “There is no way stuff this damning just got mixed in with your books.” Her eyes widened at an epiphany. “Do you remember what that maid looked like?” she asked.

Nikolai started at the realization. Unfortunately, she hadn’t left much of an impression on him. Thinking about the information she’d given him, that had probably been the point. “Uh, she was thin and had green hair. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

“Wonderful,” Mathilda mumbled, letting the letter fall by the wayside. 

“Someone wanted you to read this so much that they dumped it into your lap,” Irina said, thinking aloud. “We need to find out who and why.”

“ _After_ Shambhala.” Vera’s insistence was quiet yet unyielding. “I’m not letting that place go overlooked any longer.” 

Suddenly, Mathilda jumped to her feet and flung the door open. The raven haired boy who’d let them inside stood in the doorway. “Hi,” he managed, “There’s breakfast waiting downstairs. Just thought you should know.”

After a painfully awkward pause, he turned and left them to their business.

___

“I’ve already told you,” Iosif was suddenly very thankful for all the time he’d spent dealing with irritating relatives—it had taught him how to keep a smile plastered on. “From what I could gather, they’re heading toward Fódlan’s Fangs.” 

Seteth’s eyes narrowed analytically. “That is on the other end of Fódlan,” he said. “You are _certain_ that they were prepared to undertake such a journey?”

Iosif matched the man’s steely gaze. “In all honesty, I doubt they actually plan to get that far. Their Royal Highnesses were very upset and wanted to get away from it all. I’m pretty sure they’ll come back when they’re ready.” 

“And you,” Seteth turned to Emilia, who remained as stone-faced as ever, “what is your take on this… absurd situation? How were Lady Vera and Lord Nikolai behaving when they approached you?”

“Well, to me they seemed exhausted: tired of being surrounded by either academics or courtly intrigue. It makes sense that they’d go to the mountains. A place where no one would be able to bother them.” 

“Fódlan’s Fangs were named for their treacherous cliffs. Not an ideal place to seek respite.”

Emilia was unfazed. “That’s just it. They aren’t seeking respite. They’re seeking solitude.” 

The advisor stared at them with his piercing gaze for a long time, scrutinizing everything from their expressions to the way they tied their boots. It was unnerving to say the least, and felt more like staring down a dragon than a man.

“Seteth,” Iosif put his most polite face on. “What possible reason could we have to lie to you?” His tone was steeped in sincerity. 

“Hm. I find it hard to believe that Kliment would accompany them instead of notifying the guard,” Seteth said offhandedly. 

It was clear that he was trying to make them slip, but Iosif wouldn’t fall for that. “My brother isn’t one to let friends go off on their own: if it was obvious he couldn’t convince them to stay, he’d make sure he could protect them. The same goes for Irina and Mathilda.” 

Emilia nodded along. “We attempted to act as the voices of reason, but you can see how well that worked out.” 

Seteth stomped in frustration. “If you were so intent on making them see reason, why did neither of you report their departure?!” 

“We were reasonably afraid of the consequences that would befall us,” Emilia said like she was explaining something to a child. “There would be baseless accusations and inquisitions—I imagine you understand why someone like _me_ would be so terrified.”

Her words carried enough weight to hang over the room. Once that card was played, it was impossible for anyone to make a counter argument without coming off as insensitive. And so with a sigh and wave from the advisor, their battle ended in a stalemate. 

Even after they left Seteth’s office, Iosif and Emilia didn’t dare say anything in case they were being watched. They did, however, exchanged nervous glances that said: “Those idiots better know what they’re doing”.

___

After an unusually small breakfast and dodging questions about their origins, the five former students reconvened in Nikolai’s room. They began to pack their bags, each of them suggesting different routes that could shorten their journey and keep search parties off of their backs.

“Do we even know where to _start_ looking?” Kliment questioned, leaning against the wall for a decent angle of the map spread across the floor. 

Nikolai gave a terse nod. “Vestra’s map identifies a passageway at the foot of the mountains in Goneril lands,” he examined the elixirs he’d grabbed before they left. “Of course he doesn’t say anything about _how_ to get inside or if the entrance is concealed in a certain way, but it’s a start.”

Irina groaned. She chose to vent her frustration by polishing her already spotless assortment of daggers. “So we’ll be walking right into enemy territory with no idea how many of them there are, or what they’re capable of.” 

“Do you have any better ideas?” Vera retorted. “It’s not as though there are books about this place or even local hearsay to go off of. No matter how you look at it, we’ll be going in blind.”

“Still, there has to be _something_ we can do,” said Kliment. “Maybe I could do a fly-by with Fenya and get a lay of the land?”

“Assuming that there won’t be enemy snipers on-” Irina began. She clamped her mouth shut at the sound of footsteps. 

“Hey, just checking in, folks! Everything to your liking?” the inn-boy said, unnervingly chipper.

Mathilda waved dismissively at him. “Yeah, everything’s great.” She went through her quiver, making sure she had both long and short arrows. “We’ll be out of here in a minute anyway.” 

The scrawny kid hesitated. “You’re new here, yeah? I’d be happy to show you around,” he added enthusiastically.

At his blatant display of nerves, Mathilda turned actively hostile. Maybe he was too curious for his own good, or maybe he was hoping to get more money out of them. Either way, he needed to keep his distance. “We’re _very_ sure. Thank you for the offer. Let’s go guys.” 

Out of seemingly nowhere, someone outside shrieked in clear distress. It was followed by more cries and then the sound of tromping boots over gravel. The children rushed to the room’s window and saw a battalion marching into Sauin. They were grabbing civilians and overturning property. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good. 

“What the hell is going on?” Vera squinted to get a better look, hoping to identify what banner they were under. 

The innkeepers’ kid suddenly turned serious as he made for the stairs. “Everyone stay inside and away from the windows,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. “We’ll take care of this.”

Irina glowered. “No, I’m going out there.” she pushed past him but was stopped by the manager once she entered the hallway. 

“Sorry, missy,” said the mountain of a man, and he lifted her like she weighed nothing. He set her back down with the others. “Can’t have our guests gettin’ roughed up. S’bad for business.” That was what he claimed, but his face said that he genuinely wanted to protect them.

The cries for help were increasing by the second, and Nikolai could feel his magic thrumming through his veins. Those people needed him. “I assure you, we’ll be fine,” he said, needing to get closer. Even Physic wouldn’t reach anyone from indoors. 

The giant just ignored them and offered a hopeful smile. “Sit tight,” he said before locking the door.

Despite the warning, they crowded around the window once more. The innkeeper and his wife and son could be seen speaking with a soldier. A man in slightly different armor (probably a captain) roughly took the woman by her arm. She had some spirit however, and got up in his face and snarled. But then the first soldier came up behind the pale boy, kicked him to his knees, and held a sword to his neck. Their hosts raised their hand in surrender.

Mathilda clenched her knuckles until they turned white. “This is fucked. Those aren’t soldiers, they’re animals.” 

Kliment and Irina tried the door to no success. Nikolai looked to his sister in desperation. “We can pay them back for the door.” 

Vera visibly hesitated. “Right.” She pulled her companions away from the door and broke it down with a single swift kick. They ran toward the conflict as fast as humanly possible. 

When they finally reached the fighting, their faces paled. These were Kingdom soldiers. 

Vera could feel herself going numb, but a different emotion surged high enough to take over. “STOP,” she commanded the captain, rage emanating from her very being.

“Huh?”

“I. Said. Stop. And call off your men.” 

“Pff, you serious?” the captain snorted. He looked to his subordinate “You seeing this?”

Vera seemed to grow in height when she said, “That’s an order from your princess.” 

Both men broke into fits of laughter. “Yeah lady,” the captain eventually responded, “and I’m Saint Seiros.” He stalked toward her with a stern grimace. “You don’t strut in here like you own the place and start telling me and my men what to do. I have my orders, and that means I can do whatever I want.”

Completely disgusted, Irina stepped forward, baring her teeth. “Since when do any orders include terrorizing townsfolk?” A soldier’s first duty was always to protect. If anyone in her unit pulled a stunt like this they wouldn’t just be dismissed. They’d be imprisoned. Maybe even exiled. 

“Hit him,” said the captain.

The trooper punched his young captive in the face.

Vera stood stock still, in total shock at the senseless display of brutality. “What is wrong with you?!”

The captain quirked his brow. “You gonna keep doing this?” He gave another order without looking away. “Again.”

To their horror, the soldier punched the innkeeper’s son again. Once the boy had collapsed to the ground, he wound up and kicked him in the ribs.

The captain waltzed over to the boy and used his heel to grind his hand into the dirt in a manner that was almost casual. “I’m the law in these parts. You do as you’re told. Make sense yet?” With a callous smirk, he got right into Vera’s face, daring her to question his authority again. 

Something in Vera’s soul snapped. “Alright,” she said, her voice far too soft. “I see how it is.” Under better circumstances, she may have been able to maintain a shred of restraint. These were not better circumstances. 

Her hand gripped the captain’s lance and broke it in two with a clench. The crest of Blaiddyd flashed before her, and the man stumbled back. “What the- you’re actually-” He didn’t get another word out before one half of his lance was bashing him upside the head. He was so dazed his vision missed Vera’s knee coming up until it hit him square in the chest and he flew back multiple feet. Blood drained from the expression of the man standing over his hostage, but foolishly, he still charged alongside his comrades. 

Vera whipped around, wielding the ends of the severed weapon like clubs. She drove the lance’s point into one man’s leg, not even blinking at his screech, and decked the other one on the side of his head harshly enough to draw blood. When she spoke again, her voice was a roar. “NOW DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM?”

Nikolai ran over to the fallen boy’s side, healing his wounds and getting him to his feet. The others jumped into the fray. Mathilda slipped on a pair of steel gauntlets and weaved through the enemy ranks, switching to her bow whenever possible to pick people off. Irina’s Excalibur swirled around her as she slashed through soldiers. Kliment’s crest powered up his lancework, and he took any opponents out with relative ease. 

Nikolai used Physic and Rescue whenever necessary, so caught up in the moment that he didn’t see the boy watching him in awe. Only when the kid broke away from him to take a fallen soldier’s bow did Nikolai take note of him, to see if his wounds were interfering with his aim. An arrow to an approaching enemy’s shoulder answered his question. 

Even the innkeepers were getting in on the action, socking and spearing soldiers with uncanny familiarity. They had clearly done this before, as both husband and wife covered each other’s blindspots and performed double-team attacks like a well oiled machine. 

“AAAAAAAGH!” 

Everyone turned to see Vera with her foot against the shoulder of a limp soldier. She took his arm and tugged until a sickening crack filled the silence. Then she dragged him by his dislocated limb, ignoring his tears, and deposited him at the feet of his captain. 

“Call them off,” Vera twisted the arm she was still holding to elicit a pained scream. “Now.” 

“E-Everyone stand down!” the captain called, voice trembling as he crawled away from the girl. 

The Kingdom troops who were still conscious lowered their weapons. The inn-boy’s parents were on him in less than a second, rapidly asking questions that he did his best to dismiss. Through it all, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Nikolai and his allies. 

When he was a good distance away, the captain returned his petrified gaze to the princess. “The fuck _are_ you…?” 

A soldier fearfully piped up. “Sir, I-I think she might really be the King’s daughter.” 

“ _I know_ ,” hissed the captain. “But that… that wasn’t normal…”

Vera scoffed in scorn. “What are you on about now?”

“I thought your father was strong, but you?” He huffed a nervous laugh. “You’re a monster.” 

Vera came out of her furious haze and, for the first time since she’d started fighting, actually saw what she had done: what they all had done. Bodies were strewn amongst the battlefield, some with severed limbs and most gasping for air. With horror, she realized the only real difference between this and her father’s massacres was that her victims were barely clinging to life. She dropped her weapon fragments and donned a thousand-yard stare. 

“Yeah. Us Blaiddyds are all monsters.” Vera briefly assessed her allies. “Let’s go.” She began walking back to the inn without waiting for anyone to join her. 

“Vera!” Nikolai cried. His sister ignored him. 

Finally free from his parents, Bran struggled to lift an abandoned spear, and tested to see if it would bend. “How the shit did she…?” He looked in the direction of the one who’d just left; he figured it could be worth it to at least attempt getting an answer later. 

Irina dug her heel into the captain’s injured chest. “What were you doing here?”

“Urk, we were s-sent to retrieve Garreg Mach’s runaways,” he rasped. “My m-men ‘n I, we were the closest unit - been stationed here f-for a while.”

“And you decided the best way to handle that assignment was to _terrorize civilians_?” 

“Heh, w-wouldn’t be the first time we showed these hicks what’s what.”

“I could do this world a massive favor right this very second,” she pressed a dagger to the flesh of his neck, making a line of blood trickle down. “But I can think of a much more satisfying way to deal with you. What’s your name?” 

“J-Jager…”

“Alright, Captain Jager. If I find out you lied to me,” She grabbed him by the collar, “you’ll pay for that mistake with your miserable little life. Get it?” 

“G-Got it.”

“Good.” Irina took immense satisfaction in rendering the pathetic maggot of a man unconscious.

With all that taken care of, the manager and his family approached them. They were bruised, somewhat bloody, but were fine overall. In fact, they looked like they had thoroughly enjoyed the brawl.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, stranger,” he said with a wide grin. “Name’s Raphael. That’s my wife Leonie an’ our son Bran.” Raphael reached out and took Nikolai’s hand in an inhumanly strong grip. “Can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

“Jeez, Dad, don’t crush him,” Bran chided. His father jovially brushed the comment off.

“I’m Nikolai,” the prince did his best to return the handshake. “The girl from earlier is my sister, Vera.” 

“Holy shit,” Leonie breathed. “You wouldn’t happen to be Dimitri’s kids, would you?” Bran’s eyes widened as he too made the connection.

Nikolai stammered. “Uh, no?” 

“No point in lying, kid” Leonie said. “Now that I’m getting a good look at you, you’re the spitting image of him.” 

The prince couldn’t keep the embarrassed flush off his face.

“Hah! And you blush just like Dimitri, too!” Raphael chuckled.

Normally, the comparison would have made Nikolai happy or, at least, amused. Now, not so much. He cleared his throat and changed topics. “You’re on a first-name basis with my father?”

Raphael beamed. “‘Course! We knew him back in our academy days.” 

Leonie turned to Irina. “On that note, you _have_ to be Felix’s.” 

“Guilty as charged.” Irina couldn’t count the number of times someone had said something similar. Personally, she didn’t really see it. 

“And you _look_ like one of Sylvain’s,” Raphael began, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “But you act way too responsible.” 

Leonie nudged her husband playfully. “That must be because Ingrid’s the mom.” 

Kliment huffed a surprised laugh. “You’re entirely accurate. If only that were also true about my brother.”

“Oh, is he just like your old man?” 

“Yes, minus the philandering.”

“You,” Leonie considered Mathilda. The girl didn’t resemble any of her old classmates, but she carried herself with an air of energy that smacked of Caspar. And her archery technique… “Are you the Sweet Bun Trio’s girl?”

Mathilda gave a low whistle. “Well this is a first. No stranger’s ever guessed that I have three dads.” 

Raphael gained a reminiscent gaze. “Strangers to _you_ maybe, but us ‘n your dads go way back. We can pick out the similarities.”

At that moment, a tall teenage girl with Leonie’s ginger hair walked into the village. She had a fishing rod, tackle box, and bucket of carp precariously balanced in her arms. “Did I, um… miss something?” she asked as she took in multitude of unconscious soldiers.

“Really, Nora?!” Bran yelled. “We could’ve used you ten minutes ago!”

___

The Kirstens were really too generous. Raphael and Leonie gave them more food than they probably should’ve, spare clothes, and even a few tonics. Nikolai and his friends actually left Sauin village better equipped than when they arrived.

They were about a half mile out, closing in on a small forest, when Nikolai heard the sound of approaching hooves. At first, he feared that more Kingdom attackers were upon them. But when he spun around, Nikolai was met with Bran on horseback. He was wearing traveling attire that hid his small frame, and had a bow and quiver strapped across his chest.

“Um, where do you think you’re going?” Vera cast a weary glance at Bran, still mulling over the actions she’d taken hours ago. 

“With you.” He said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“By the Goddess, is there a reason why everyone and their grandmother wants to come along…?” She really couldn’t deal with this right now. “No. Good day.” 

“What if I don’t take no for an answer?”

_You saw what I did to the last person who tried that_. Vera shook the thought away. “Just, no okay?” 

“Look, this isn’t going to be some fun old adventure you can tell your future kids about,” Irina chimed in. 

Bran dismissed her comment. “Who said _anything_ about fun, lady? You’re doing something that I can get behind.” 

Kliment smiled politely. “You have an inn to run.” 

“No, my parents and sister have an inn to run.” 

“I’m sorry,” Nikolai urged his horse forward, “but we can’t let you put your life at risk.”

“Why? Am I too poor for your rich blood?”

“If that was what we thought of you, why would we have bothered to attack our own soldiers in your defense?” Nikolai asked.

“Then I fail to see the problem here.”

Irina massaged her temples and grit her teeth. “I feel a migraine coming on.” 

Mathilda looked Bran over from her spot atop Fenya. “I mean… He _could_ be useful,” she admitted.

Her friends stared at her in disbelief. She shrugged and twirled an arrow between her fingers. “But I guess we do already have an archer.” 

Bran cocked an eyebrow. “You challenging me, Pigtails?”

Why, oh why, had Vera not left on her own? “Absolutely not.” 

“They may have a point.” Surprisingly, it was Irina who had come to their defense. “We don’t have a designated ranged attacker since Mathilda’s usually in the thick of things, and Nikolai needs to focus on healing. It may prove advantageous.” 

“How about this?” Mathilda hopped down from Kliment’s wyvern. “If he can beat me at archery, then he’s obviously better than I am, and he should tag along.”

“No,” Vera, Nikolai, and Kliment said at once.

“Sure.” Bran dismounted and got his bow ready. 

“Then it’s settled!” Mathilda chirped.

Vera cursed under her breath.“I swear on all of creation…”

Eventually, after much eyeballing and measuring, Irina had carved a rough bullseye into a tree trunk. “The outer ring is worth five, the inner ten, the center fifteen,” she explained. “Whoever gets the highest score wins.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Vera groaned.

Mathilda pointedly ignored her and drew her first arrow. “Not like I plan to lose,” she smirked. She struck the inner ring, only a bit off center. “Your turn!” 

Cooly, Bran drew, fired, and hit dead center. 

Mathilda was already lining up her next shot. “Hmm. Not bad.” She drew two arrows this time and fired them simultaneously. One hit center while the other landed in the inner ring. 

Bran rolled his eyes. “Showoff.” He fired one arrow that hit the inner circle, then another that found the center again.

“Showboating is,” she pulled an arrow much shorter than the other ones. “ _extremely_ fun.” 

“Really?” Bran deadpanned and tapped his foot in annoyance. 

Mathilda removed a hollow tube about the width of a regular arrow and set the shorter one inside of it. “Ever heard of the ‘baby arrow’?” 

“The what?”

She fired, and pierced through an arrow that was already sitting in the center ring. 

“I’m above this,” Bran muttered. He tossed an arrow into the air, caught it, and fired. He split the arrow that Mattie had just shot. 

Mathilda gave a slow clap. “Well, I concede. You’re better than I expected.” 

“Thank you,” Bran said with a small smile.

She offered him a handshake, which he accepted. As soon as he did, she took the opportunity to flip him over her shoulder and then pinned one of his arms behind his back. “But, my expectations weren’t all that high to begin with.” Mathilda let go, and walked to the target to see if any of the arrows were salvageable. 

Still lying on the ground, Bran lifted his head and offered her a confused look. “I, uh, really hope that wasn’t some weird attempt at flirting,” he began nervously, “because I’m not into girls.”

Kliment blinked once, twice, three times. “Huh?”

Mathilda turned around and rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, buddy.” 

Irina tilted her head. “Okay… I guess you can just come out like that if you want,” she said with a listless shrug.

Vera really couldn’t have cared less. He was along for the ride, whether she wanted him there or not. “Well, thanks for that random bit of trivia.” She mused, moving to where the animals were waiting. 

Nikolai envied his bluntness. If only things were that simple for him. 

Time passed and they rode further out, and on a woodland path, Kliment heaved a hefty sigh. He thought back on his conversation with the Kirstens. “Goddess protect my brother while I’m gone.” 

Bran gave his new companion a curious glance. “You worried he’s gonna do something stupid?” he asked, all too familiar with looking after one’s siblings.

“No, I’m worried he’ll be assassinated in my absence.” 

“Uhm, what?”

None of the others so much as flinched. “That’s just a typical afternoon for House Gautier.” Mathilda explained. 

“...What the fuck?” 

___


	5. Let’s Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cardinal room and camping conversations.

Chapter 5: Let’s Talk 

11th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Garreg Mach Monastery, the Cardinal’s Room— 

Annette clutched her sides, nearly hyperventilating, as she rocked in her seat. “Oh Goddess… Oh Goddess… Oh sweet merciful Goddess…” The mantra was the only thing that kept her grounded.

Felix had an arm wrapped around his wife, trying to soothe her. “We both know Irina can take care of herself.” He was concerned, but not nearly as worried. Their daughter was no fool. 

Eventually, Annette managed to take a deep breath. “I know, but, for heaven’s sake why did this even happen? She wouldn’t just _run away!_ ” She leaned against Felix and played with the ends of her hair fretfully.

Ingrid sighed, holding Sylvain’s hand. “I’m finding it hard to accept myself.” 

Sylvain traced Ingrid’s knuckles. “What’s gotten into that kid…?” Their youngest had never been one for recklessness. 

“We are doing everything in our power to find them.” Byleth was seated at the head of their meeting table, right beside Dimitri. When she spoke, she sounded like the calm and collected leader her former students had come to expect. 

“Professor- er, Your Grace-” stuttered Annette. Even after all these years, none of them could stand to address Byleth any other way.

The ginger’s husband had been staring at Dimitri since they arrived. “You know what this is about, don’t you?” Felix had never danced around issues and he wasn’t about to start now. His icy glare dared the king to speak. 

Dimitri avoided eye contact. “I… May have an idea-”

Byleth raised a brow at him, about to ask further questions, when the meeting was interrupted by thundering footsteps. Caspar threw the doors open, his eyes wild and movements frantic.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MATTIE’S _GONE?_ ” Caspar’s spoke loudly enough to make everyone present flinch. Linhardt and Ashe filed in behind him, looking equally troubled but were thankfully not loud about it. 

Felix rolled his eyes at Caspar’s outburst. “We mean that she’s _gone_.”

Caspar didn’t relent. “How did five kids manage to evade every guard in the monastery?!” 

Ashe chewed his lip. “You’re forgetting how well we taught them,” he said. “You shouldn’t underestimate their abilities just because they’re children.”

Linhardt breathed a long, tired sigh. “This is turning out to be quite troublesome.” It was an understatement to be certain. “Has anyone sighted them yet?” he asked. 

Dimitri made a motion and a soldier stepped forward from the other end of the room. “We’ve received a report from the Territories.” He turned and nodded to the armored man. “Go ahead.”

Said soldier stood straighter now that he was the center of attention. “The battalion posted at Sauin Village engaged the missing students,” he said concisely.

Ingrid’s scowl was frightening. “They attacked… Our children?” 

“The other way around, my lady.” 

“Excuse me?” Annette jumped out of her seat. “Irina would never attack _anyone_ without provocation.” She was certain this was some sort of mistake. 

“Witnesses report that it was actually Lady Vera who initiated the fight.” said the trooper. “The others merely jumped to her defence.”

Byleth and Dimitri gawked at the man. “What?” Vera was a warrior to be sure, but one with unshakable honor. 

At this, the man hesitated. “The captain on the scene says she tore through their ranks while they were searching the town.” 

Silence hung over the room. Byleth stood with her arms folded. No matter what the captain said, this report didn’t make sense. Regardless of how upset she was, Vera wouldn’t just attack people—she didn’t have it in her. There had to be more to the story, and she’d be damned if she didn’t find out what it was. Dimitri didn’t believe it either: the princess was a better person than he’d ever been. 

Meanwhile at the other end of the table, the sounds of Gronder grew louder in Ashe’s ears. He desperately gripped his pants like a lifeline. While Caspar was too engrossed in the moment, Linhardt immediately saw Ashe’s distress. He pressed himself closer and rubbed his husband’s arm soothingly. “You’re not there anymore, he whispered, “It’s over.” 

“Dimitri…” Felix cared little for titles at this point; this whole thing sounded far too strange. “You know what brought this on, and you’d best tell us right this very second.” 

“Somehow, Nikolai and Vera… know the details of my past,” Dimitri began. “What’s more, they uncovered the secrets we’ve tried to keep buried. My son confronted me with all he had learned, and we… argued about it.” 

Byleth sighed and set a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “You- _We_ should have said something to them.” It was always better to confess than to get caught in a lie. “Instead they found out from a third party. It’s no wonder why they ran off.” 

Ingrid shook her head. “I’m not so sure. We kept the existence of the Agarthans to ourselves because our searches yielded no results. We had nothing to go off of, therefore nothing to fight. As for His Majesty’s behavior during the war…” The lady knight trailed off. None of them liked to think about those times. 

Caspar held no such reservations. “That part you should’ve at least told _your_ kids about,” he jibed.

Annette’s jaw dropped at his forwardness. “C-Caspar!”

“What? If I had made a bunch of stupid mistakes, I would’ve still told Mattie about ‘em! We can’t just pick and choose our past - it’s part of who we are.”

Despite Linhardt’s efforts, Ashe’s breathing quickened. 

“Did I or did I not say that pretending nothing was ever wrong was a _fucking dumb idea?_ ” Felix said nastily.

“Felix!” Ingrid made an attempt to rein him in, but he tuned her out entirely. 

“But no,” he glowered at Ingrid and Ashe, “we had to follow our King” then Sylvain, “we had to be respectful,” and finally Dimitri and Byleth, “we had to lie to our children to keep the peace.” 

Annette laced her fingers through his. “Felix…” She knew how he felt. Even if she could never vocalize it, she felt the same. 

Felix returned Annette’s grip, but he wasn’t done yet. “And when I suggested that maybe—just maybe—our nation should be held to a slightly higher standard, suddenly I was being insensitive. Well, I hope you’re all happy,” he dropped back into his seat with a thud. “Because this shit was fucking inevitable.” 

“Inevitable,” Ashe mumbled. A bespectacled boy with an arrow through his eye stared at him blankly from across the room. His wound bled profusely, but he made no move to stop the flow.

_“Wish I… could've seen more of the world.”_

“I-I’m s-so…” His voice was little more than a whisper, and he could feel hot tears welling in his eyes. 

“Ashe? Is everything alright?” Byleth’s voice was far away, almost muffled; it was as if Ashe was underwater. 

Ashe faintly registered Caspar joining Linhardt, his other husband embracing him from the opposite side. Their soft-spoken reassurances went unheard. All he could do was shake his head as the tears fell freely. He was unworthy of love, fatherhood, friendship, everything in his life.

And then, breaking through the fog was Dimitri’s voice: “Ashe, what’s wrong?” 

The next thing he knew, Ashe was back at Gronder. The light rain had turned the fields to mush, blood and mud painting the landscape dull grey and dark crimson. He weaved through bodies, both alive and dead, until he reached his king.

Areadbhar had been skewered through a horse, and Dimitri was impassive as viscera sprinkled over him. And then Ashe saw someone coming up on his lord from behind, a bow of their own drawn.

He didn't think, just nocked an arrow and released it. The shaft broke through a glass lens and pierced his victim’s eye. In his final moments, Ignatz looked at him with such overwhelming sadness; his expression said it all: this was inevitable.

“Wish I… could've seen more of the world.”

And then Dimitri was on him, slashing through the corpse of their old classmate - to make sure he was truly dead, or maybe just to keep riding the bloodlust coursing through him. Completely numb, Ashe watched as his friend's desecrated body fell to the ground like a broken toy. 

Slowly, his vision switched over to reality: trampled grass was replaced by wooden flooring, and corpses gave way to the faces of his living friends. Ashe sounded cold and broken when he finally addressed Dimitri. “I had to kill him.” For the first time in years, he looked the king dead in the eye, disgust evident in his expression. “ _For_ _you_.” He pushed out of his chair and rushed toward the exit with Linhardt and Caspar close behind. 

Byleth frowned, suddenly realizing who he was referring to. “Ignatz.” 

At the name, quiet descended over everyone. Dimitri slumped forward, head in his hands. He could barely even remember the Battle of Gronder: he’d been far too entrenched in madness to focus on anything other than vengeance. 

Emilia and Iosif entered a very somber atmosphere when they pushed open the doors to the Cardinal’s Room. Unfortunately, they couldn’t afford to leave until they had whatever information was available. 

Iosif bowed. “Your Majesty, Your Grace. Pardon the intrusion, but I was told there’s news of my brother’s current whereabouts.” He put up his well-mannered facade. 

The king managed to somewhat collect himself. “Kliment and the others were last seen causing a stir in Sauin Village in the eastern Territories.” 

Emilia gasped in falsified surprise. “That’s… the opposite of where they told us they were going. Are you sure it was them?” 

Dimitri nodded. “The wyvern described in the village matches Fenya exactly. There is no doubt in my mind that they were there.” 

Iosif and Emilia exchanged a brief look. “Huh,” the red headed boy began, “this actually makes sense when you think about it.” 

Sylvain grew a bit suspicious at his eldest son’s demeanor. He had learned to recognize the subtle signs of Iosif preparing to spin a tall tale. 

“How so?” Byleth asked skeptically.

“When they detailed their travel plans, they weren’t accounting for any detours caused by soldier interference. It’s likely they intended to go west, but their pursuers forced them to head elsewhere.” 

Emilia nodded along. “Right. The night they left, Lord Nikolai and Lady Vera seemed too emotional to take such things into consideration.” 

Something about that didn’t seem quite right to the archbishop. “Hm, Seteth was under the impression that they were going to Fódlan’s Fangs. Why would they be heading east when their end goal lies westward?” 

“We were under the same impression, Your Grace.” Emilia shrugged helplessly.

Iosif offered another bow. “Apologies for the confusion we must have caused.” 

Sylvain quirked a brow. “Iosif,” he addressed his son flatly. 

“Yes, Father?”

“You wouldn’t be trying to buy them time, would you? Because I have to say, that’s what this whole goose chase is starting to feel like.”

Ingrid set her hands on her hips, voice stern “Iosif.” 

He still wasn’t deterred. “I want my brother back just as much as you do. Do you think I’d just let him run off on some mysterious journey? If he ever comes back, I’m gonna throttle him.”

“If you have no further need of us,” Emilia said, “we should return to our classes.”

___

“Garden. During lunch.” Iosif said under his breath. 

Emilia nodded in silent agreement. 

When the midday bells chimed, they went to the garden separately to avoid suspicion. 

Iosif wrung his hands, trying to think of a way to buy more time. Finally, an idea hit him. “Okay, we need to get more people in our corner. We have to stick to our original story and get others to corroborate it, but there should also be a separate rumor going around.” 

“Such as?”

“That they’re heading west through Daphnel,” Iosif’s mind was working swifter than a stampede. The two of them could make this work with enough effort. 

Emilia frowned pensively. “That’s dangerously close,” she mused. 

“It’ll sound more believable if the other location is in the Alliance.”

“And I suspect you want me to convince the soldiers in our infirmary to propagate said rumor?”

“You catch on quick!” Iosif grinned and patted her on the back. “Feed them the Fódlan’s Fangs story. If people from Alliance Territories say it, they’re bound to send soldiers-”

All of a sudden, they saw Sylvain and Ingrid rounding the corner. 

“Oh, this is bad,” the Duscur girl whispered.

Iosif spoke the first thing that came to his mind: “Kiss me. Now.”

She was mortified. “What- Dear Goddess.” And, reluctantly, she kissed him. It was a painfully awkward lip lock that lasted far longer than either teen would have liked. 

Once they were certain that they were alone again, the two broke apart at the speed of light. “Let us agree _never_ to do that again.” Emilia was thoroughly traumatized by the experience.

“Yep, no arguments here. I’m gonna take a walk with some guards, see if I can get a few favors done. See ya.” Iosif could not have run off faster.

___

Sylvain was positively beaming. “That right there is a Gautier,” he said.

His wife appeared utterly flabbergasted. “Wh-what the- _since when?_ ”

With a dreamy sigh, Sylvain wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “They grow up so fast.”

Ingrid clasped her hands together in fervent prayer. “Please, please, _please_ let me not have raised a philanderer.”

___

—Gloucester, the Alliance Territories— 

It was getting dark when the six teenagers decided to make camp for the night. After departing from Sauin, they’d continued east, getting close to Myrddin: the area was heavily fortified, so it was unlikely they could get through. Their other option was circling around at the expense of wasting another day or two. But that was a decision for tomorrow. 

Nikolai hefted a bag of medical supplies over his shoulder and took a seat next to Bran. “I need to take a look at you.” 

The boy looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Um, _where_?” He shifted back a bit. 

“I’d like to start with your abdominal area.” 

“Yeah, no. Sorry.” True his sides still ached, but Bran could tough it out.

Nikolai was never in the mood for stubbornness when health was concerned. “Bran, wounds need to be looked at off the battlefield. Healing spells don’t fix everything, they mainly keep people on their feet in the heat of battle. If you fall ill because of internal bleeding or an infection-” 

“I get it, but nobody wants to look at… that.” The last thing Bran wanted was _anybody_ seeing how much his ribs jutted out. He hated being pitied and treated like he was fragile; these people had just barely agreed to let him tag along in the first place. “I’ll be fine, heck, I feel better already,” he swore as earnestly as he could.

Nikolai was annoyed, but he avoided lashing out. “Fine. Let me see your face.” 

“...Okay.”

The blonde took him by the chin, moving his head to search for any signs of bruising. 

This was certainly awkward. Bran had never been a conversationalist, but he needed to say _something_. “So, how does a prince come to learn all this medicine stuff? I thought you’d be more into, um, ballroom dancing or-”

Nikolai pressed his dexterous fingers at various spots on Bran’s face. “Does anywhere hurt when I apply pressure?” 

“Er, yeah,” Bran grunted. “Bridge of my nose.”

“It isn’t broken, but there’s swelling. I’ll get some ointment.” He turned, and pulled a small jar out of his bag. 

“O-Okay, sure, great.” Bran scrambled to get back on topic. “But seriously, how’d you get into healing magic?”

Nikolai applied the ointment to Bran’s nose and set a bandage on it. He evaluated his handiwork, and gave a satisfied nod. With that taken care of, he could finally address Bran’s inquiry.“Is there a reason why you’re so curious?” 

He couldn’t hide the tremble in his voice. How was a kid the same age as him already such a dedicated doctor? “N-Not really! Just thought we should get to know each other.” 

His answer was matter-of-fact in tone. “I want to achieve a world without pointless death.”

“Wow. That’s… pretty damn ambitious.” 

“Too many people die before they have a chance to truly live their lives. One of my first objectives is and has always been preventing casualties in combat. After that, it’s on to curing diseases, and then slowing the aging process.” 

“Is this a lifelong goal or-?” 

Nikolai turned gravely serious. “There is nothing,” He looked the other boy dead in the eye. “ _nothing_ that grieves me more than the loss of human life. So, yes I plan on pursuing this for as long as I walk the earth.” 

“If it’s any comfort, you ain't the only one who sees it that way.” Bran took a moment to find the right words. “Something tells me that a guy as driven as you can _literally_ do anything you put your mind to,” he said sincerely.

The blonde gave a genuine smile. “Thank you.” He gathered his materials and got up. “And, Bran?” 

“Hm?”

That pointed seriousness returned. “If I ever find out that you’re hiding injuries from me, I will _never_ forgive you. Understand?” 

Bran let out a surprised chuckle. “I hear you,” he said with a casual salute.

Nikolai smiled once more, and went to check on the others. 

When he was sure that the prince had gone, Bran let his head fall and he toed the dirt absentmindedly. “But you can’t save everybody,” he mumbled.

___

Kliment hadn’t made much progress unpacking his supplies. Ever since they’d departed from the village, he’d been confused and disturbed. Everyone saw it, but most were too tired to bring it up. 

Mathilda was busy getting a fire started, but his depression was palpable. “What’s wrong? You look like Fenya just chewed up your favorite pair of boots.”  
  


“If only,’ Kliment laughed humorlessly. There was a telling pause before he spoke again. “You know what’s on my mind - it’s on yours too.”

She shrugged as though they were discussing something as minor as a chill in the wind. “Not really. I can’t let stuff like that bug me too much.” 

“...How do you do it?”

Mathilda faced him. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

He stopped unpacking. “You and Bran can just… shrug off that horridness like it’s nothing. I still can’t believe what we saw, but you almost act as if you’ve moved on.” 

Mathilda turned back to the fire with an almost dismissive air. “Because I have. There’s a lot of horror in this world. You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t think any of it would seep into the army.” 

“I- Well- I… don’t know _what_ I thought,” he stammered. “But what happened back there, that isn’t what the army stands for.” Kliment scowled and clenched his spear.

She stiffened for a moment, then forced her muscles to relax. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know the whole story. Even then, some anger still leaked into her words. “And just what led you to believe that everyone in the army marches to the same moral beat? Oh right, I guess that’s the only face of the Kingdom you’ve ever seen.” 

Kliment was clearly hurt, but he sighed guiltily. “You’re right. I suppose it’s unrealistic to hold others to my own… lofty ideals.”

Mathilda grew somber. Maybe telling him about her past would get him to abandon those futile ideals. “Hey, have I ever told you how I was adopted?” 

Then everyone in camp was giving her their undivided attention; she had _never_ told anyone before. 

Kliment could sense where this was headed. “You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” 

“I think you should hear it. Do you know about the Adrestian rebellion that happened a few years after the war ended? It only lasted a couple months, but everyone involved made one hell of an effort.” 

“I’ve read about it. There aren’t many details on how it was suppressed.” 

Mathilda pinched herself when the memory threatened to overtake her. “My family… my birth family—they were merchants transporting food and weapons to the rebels. Um,” she pinched again, harder this time. “we were going to Arundel when Kingdom soldiers attacked us.”

Kliment bowed his head. 

She stared into the distance. “They were… Well first they started torturing my mom to get dad to tell them about the rebel plans. When he cracked, they killed her anyway. Then they killed him, but… slowly to see if he’d give anything else up. And finally… they took my brother when he tried to fight.” 

Her companion remained silent.

“I was hiding in the back of our carriage. I don’t really remember how long I sat there, staring at… everything. I must have started crying at some point, because Papa broke the carriage open and pulled me out of there. I remember,” Mathilda bit back a sob. “that I wouldn’t let go of him. Like, I thought he was the only good thing left in this world.” 

When Kliment still did not say anything, Mathilda felt she had to end it somehow. “And I’ve been with my dads ever since. That’s it.” 

A long lapse of noise passed between them. Kliment eventually sat next to her at the fireside.. 

Mathilda looked at him without a single tear in her eyes. “I didn’t tell you that so you’d pity me, Klem.” 

Kliment hummed in reply. 

“Well, say something.”

Disgust marred his features. “Nothing has changed since then,” he said. “And that’s the greatest crime.”

“I’m not-” Mathilda needed a second to breathe. “I don’t need some knight in shining armor, okay? What happened happened. I’m just… grateful to be alive.” 

“I know. But this can never happen again.” 

She looked away. “As long as there are people desperate for even an ounce of power, it _will_ happen again.” 

“But that doesn’t mean we should give up.” He sounded so damn certain. 

Mathilda tried to press her point onto him. “I _had_ to give up. To be able to survive in this place.” 

Kliment regarded Mathilda with a sideways glance. There was something about her that made him believe she hadn’t quite given up yet. “I respect that.” He kept his observations to himself. “But I refuse to live that way.”

At last, she snapped at him. “Live what way?” 

Kliment looked at her with a patient and gentle smile. “Like someone without hope.” He stood and left her alone. 

“Klem! Thanks for… listening.” 

___

Irina finally decided she’d had enough of the princess’ behavior. She walked toward the girl’s bedroll, determined to get an answer. “Alright, what’s going on with you?” 

Vera didn’t reply. 

Irina kicked her in the back. “I know you’re awake. I won’t leave until you talk to me.” 

“I hate you. There.”

“Don’t be a child, you know what I mean.” 

“What do you _want_ me to say?” Vera grumbled.

“Let’s start with why you’ve been avoiding all of us.” Irina plopped down beside her. 

“Safety precaution.” The princess still refused to face her. 

Irina was incredulous. “Do you have a fever or something? Should I get your brother?” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why are you concerned for our _safety_?” 

“Don’t play dumb. Why do you think?” Vera all but snarled. 

“Vera, we’ve known you all your life, and,” Irina motioned to herself and the others. “we’re still in one piece.” 

“Hm. The men in Sauin can’t say the same.”

Irina massaged her temples. “My Goddess. You know that wasn’t _just_ you, right? We all did our fair share of damage,” she pointed out. 

Vera was silent. 

“I nearly killed that ass of a captain for heaven’s sake. We were defending the villagers. Why are you being so weird about this?” 

At that, Vera finally looked at her friend. “There’s a difference between a warrior and a butcher, Irina,” she said forlornly.

“Those men were alive by the end.” 

“You saw how I left them. Death would’ve been a mercy.” 

“Are you talking about breaking that one guy’s arm? Yes, dying is very comparable to a broken bone,” Irina smiled sardonically. 

“...” 

“Look at me,” she made Vera roll over. “They deserved _everything_ they got and more. Hell, if you hadn’t forced them to stand down, it’s likely they’d be even worse off. What you did was justified.” 

“But what if I can’t stop next time?” Vera curled in on herself, retreating into the blankets. “What if I do something that _can never be_ justified?” 

Irina roughly gripped the other girl’s arms. “Do you have an insatiable lust for blood that I’m unaware of?” 

Vera didn’t reply.

“I’m gonna take that as a no. Have you ever stood above a defeated enemy and wanted nothing more than to gouge their heart out? I have,” Irina spoke with brutal honesty. “and I’m not ashamed to admit it because I didn’t follow through.” 

“But we’re not the same person,” Vera protested weakly, her bite giving way to someone who truly feared the things they could be capable of.

“You also aren’t the same person as your father.” 

“...No, I’m not…”

The Fraldarius gave a rare half-smile. “You are in total control of what you choose to do, and what you choose not to do. Never forget that.” 

Slowly but surely, Vera nodded in understanding. Irina abruptly pulled Vera into a firm hug. The princess wrapped her arms around the other girl, but didn’t squeeze back. 

Eventually, Irina pulled away, her usual irate expression back once again. “Ugh, goodnight, idiot.” She turned away and went to her own bedroll.

“Night.” 

___

It was hours after everyone had turned in, but Nikolai couldn’t sleep. He remembered the cold, empty look Vera wore after the battle; it stuck with him the past couple of days. 

Nikolai turned on his side, and he could barely make out his sister’s sleeping form in the campfire’s dying embers. It was at that moment that he quietly got up and approached Vera’s bedroll: when he was certain he hadn’t woken anyone up, he settled in next to his sister, cuddling into the warmth and protection she had always provided. He was fast asleep in seconds. 

___

Not for the first time, Kliment was glad that he was an early riser. He’d gotten up to feed Fenya when he spotted smoke trails along the horizon in the west. Where they had just come from.

He went about waking the others with extreme efficiency: to be specific, with a swift smack to each of their heads. They had to lose their pursuers before they reached Shambhala, and Kliment refused to waste the advantage of a head start. 

“What direction are we going in?!” Mathilda rubbed the sleep from her eyes and haphazardly tossed their camping supplies into bags. 

“East—always east!” Vera yelled, making sure their weaponry and tonics were present. 

Irina got the horses ready. “Past Myrddin?!” 

“I don’t hear you coming up with any better ideas,” Bran retorted as he saddled up.

“Goddess give me strength.” Kliment jumped into Fenya’s back. “I’m gonna fly ahead and play distraction for the bridge’s guards. When you hear Fenya roar, go as fast as you can and don’t stop.” 

“Wait, you can’t just go on your own!” Nikolai protested.

Kliment ignored his words and ordered his wyvern to take off. It wasn’t long before the two were entirely out of sight. 

“Iosif is going to kill all of us when he hears about this.” Irina muttered, mounting Vera’s horse. 

___


	6. A Grave Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go about as well as anyone was expecting. Namely: not very.

13th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Shambhala, the Goneril-Hrym border— 

“Is… Is that _really_ it?” Mathilda peered through the spyglass.

“That’s it,” Vera said solemnly.

“It just looks so… unassuming,” Kliment observed.

“Yeah, that’s probably the point.” Irina rolled her eyes.

Shambhala’s gate, if one could even call it that, was little more than a great crack in the mountainside. There were no ramparts or patrols protecting the pathway up through the jagged peaks; everything was eerily barren. 

“So, what, we just walk right in?” Bran drawled. It was too easy to be true. 

“We split up into teams,” said Vera. She looked them over quickly and considered each of their combat capabilities.

Irina frowned and raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s a good idea in completely unfamiliar territory?” 

“We’ll cover more ground this way,” Vera explained. “Nikki, you’re with me. Mattie, I want you shooting from the back of Klem’s wyvern. Rina, you should take Bran with you for support.”

In the face of someone who currently held the authority of a commander, Irina allowed herself to submit, if only slightly. “Alright. We should have a signal for retreat.” 

“Once we’re inside, we’ll have next to no chance of retreat,” Kliment pointed out, peering at the distant cave apprehensively. “If things take a turn for the worse while you’re on the mountainside, your best bet is to run instead of trying to signal the rest of us.” He gave Mathilda a boost and they climbed atop his wyvern.

“Hey,” Nikolai got his friends’ attention, “you be careful up there.” Kliment smiled bravely and Mathilda gave him a two-finger salute before Fenya took to the sky. Nikolai stared after them until Vera placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They can handle themselves,” she assured him. Vera turned to the remaining two. “Try not to go too far ahead of him,” she told Irina. Then she and her brother were off. 

Bran fiddled with his bowstring distractedly, gazing off into the distance. Irina took note and realized that this would be his first real battle. She stood closer and lowered her voice for his sake.

“You alright?” Bran made a noncommittal sound. Irina wasn’t convinced. “I need you to focus. You understand that we’re walking into a combat zone, right?” 

“What’s there to understand?” he asked. “It’s just like hunting: you aim and shoot.”

“There’s a difference between a forest full of animals and a warrior’s home turf.” 

“In that respect, you've probably got as much experience as me.” 

Irina laughed humorlessly. “I became a squire for the Kingdom army when I was twelve. I’m not bragging, I just need you to follow my lead,” she said and started walking.

The four of them made their way through the tall grass easily enough. However, when they reached the foot of the mountain path, there was a collective feeling that they were being watched. Irina and Bran scanned the cliff face and gravel road before them; nothing seemed out of place, but that didn’t mean they were safe. 

Nikolai kept close to Vera as they continued their trek upward. The sloping terrain slowed their pace, and only served as a reminder of how far they had left to go. There was a particularly large boulder ahead, and Nikolai just had to take a breather somewhere. He broke away from his sister and ambled toward his makeshift chair.

Just as he was about to sit down, the rock flipped off the ground like a piece of paper to reveal a hole. And out of that came a myrmidon, sword poised to impale him.

Vera’s lance took his head clean off before he had the chance to harm her brother. Then a loud, inhuman cry echoed on the rocky walls, and the teens realized with mounting dread that it was a rallying call.

“ _FORWARD, AGARTHANS!_ ” 

“Prepare to engage!” Vera hollered.

Nothing could have prepared them for what came next. All around, countless stones were upturned to uncover more hiding places, and with them more crazed enemies.

“Spider holes,” Vera growled. She’d read about them in her studies, but this was her first time seeing them put to use. They were almost entirely surrounded which left no chance for an overly offensive strategy. “Don’t leave my side!” she ordered.

The siblings rushed forward and Nikolai led with a concentrated blast of Seraphim which created a small opening for Vera. With a wide sweep of her lance, the front row of opponents fell, staggering those behind them. 

Nikolai felt the crest of flames surge within him and his body whipped around, sword at the ready. He pinpointed the specific threat with ease: a sniper. They loosed an arrow, but his blade cut through it. Crest still flaring, he cut through a brigade, narrowly avoiding weapons and finally reaching the sniper; his sword went through their heart. A turn of his head told him that no one had landed a blow on him since Vera was too close to allow it. 

“Say something before you run off!” she snapped. 

“Sorry, crest,” he said as though it explained everything. 

“Of course,” Vera muttered. She used her spear as a pole to vault over a nearby brigand, stabbing them from behind. 

Irina had already cut her way through four advancing assassins, and was about to kill a fifth when Bran called out to her. “Mind your head!” She ducked down and narrowly missed a volley of arrows raining down from above.

“Where the hell-?”

“I see ‘em.” Bran prepared three arrows and aimed at a seemingly random wall of rock. But Irina trusted his instincts, and cast Wind to give his shot a little extra range. Her belief in him was justified when three cleverly camouflaged archers fell from their nest.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he said.

“Comes with the territory.” And then she was back in the fray, her support not far behind. “I sure hope Klem and Mattie are better off than we are,” she growled.

Kliment and Mathilda were not faring much better than their friends below.

“Hold on to something!” 

“Like _what_?” Mathilda shouted over the howling winds. Both of her hands were occupied as she took shots at the flying units that were gaining on them. They were wyvern riders and while there weren’t many of them, they were just as skilled at piloting their steeds as Kliment. Which meant they were a bitch to hit.

“Just… stop shooting for one second and grab onto me!” That was the only warning Kliment gave before he turned Fenya into a roll. Mathilda just barely managed to wrap her arms around him in time. All manner of projectiles soared past them as they evaded. Then their wyvern dove downward, and Mathilda realized she had a clear shot of their enemies’ undersides. She loosed three shots at once, each piercing a vital point and sending the fliers spiraling to the ground. 

“Can you do that again?” She asked, lining up another set of arrows. 

“Give me a second,” Kliment sized up their other opponents, and nodded to himself. “Fenya, over and under!” 

At her master’s command, the wyvern soared toward a set of their enemies, picking up speed as she flew. 

Mathilda grimaced. “Please tell me you have a plan other than charging.” 

When Fenya was right in front of one of them, she dropped down while Kliment leapt out of the saddle, lance in hand. He stabbed the rider, vaulted over their body, and landed soundly on Fenya’s back. 

“Nice moves, but that was only one-”

“Watch their formation.”

In mere moments, the well arrayed fliers began breaking their arrangement. The disorganization was subtle, but it was definitely there. 

“Holy Seiros. Was that the commander?” 

“Looks like I guessed right.” Kliment said. “Now fire!” 

Mathilda let her arrows fly, with Fenya bobbing and weaving around all obstacles. She killed four riders, and wounded three wyverns. Things were looking up. At least, that was what she thought before another wave entered her line of vision. Both Kliment and Mathilda gulped. There was no end in sight. 

Below the aerial onslaught, Vera swept one enemy off their feet and spun around to pierce another in the side. Whenever she felled one of them, another appeared out of nowhere to take their place. Her brother was doing an admirable job of keeping mages at bay with Silence, but he could only hold them off for so long. Whenever a Fire or Thunder did manage to get through, Vera was forced to either dodge away—into the range of an opposing weapon—or do her best to avoid the brunt of it and hope Nikolai would have an opportunity to heal her. 

On his part, Nikolai had taken to switching between his sword and his spells: unlike Irina, he couldn’t use them simultaneously. He was so occupied with stopping a mage that he nearly lost his arm to an opposing spear. 

There was a brief lull in combat, as if they were standing in the eye of a storm, and Vera approached him. “You’re not looking too good,” she told him.

Nikolai wiped the sweat from his brow; his mental and physical energy was running thin. “I… can keep going,” he said, though he didn’t sound very assuring.

An explosion almost deafened them both; they managed to shield themselves from the falling debris, but that proved to be a small comfort when they saw the cause. Above them, near the entrance to Shambhala, three bipedal metal soldiers had begun their advance.

Although Irina and Bran couldn’t see what was responsible for the disturbance, they had to deal with the rush of enemies while attempting to avoid rockslides.

“Cover me,” Irina said suddenly. She dodged behind Bran, and focused on surrounding herself with magic. 

“I mean, I was already doing that, but sure,” Bran fired again and downed an oncoming brigand. He had no idea how long he spent nocking and launching arrows to pick off approaching foes, but his aim never faltered. 

Without warning, an eruption of wind came from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder without stopping his assault, and saw the full force of Excalibur surging around Irina. The girl threw herself forward at breakneck speed, and a single slash of her sword sent a Cutting Gale into the enemy next wave. Those who weren’t outright downed stumbled into the warriors behind them, setting off a domino effect. 

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?!” Bran yelled, running to keep up with her as she marched through the opposition. 

Unfortunately, the volley whirling around Irina wasn’t acting as a shield: she sustained a myriad of cuts and slashes while she charged. Nevertheless, she refused to let that deter her. An arrow whizzed over her shoulder, hitting a myrmidon to her left right in the eye. With him out of the way, she had enough free space to kick off the nearby cliff side and flip over another unit of soldiers. Now behind them, Irina unleashed a Blizzard, sheathing most of them in a layer of ice that gave Bran easy targets. 

“Either I’m crazy,” Bran began, “or we’re not making a dent in their forces.” He sniped an overheard wyvern and the beast crashed into the mountainside. 

“All this fighting isn’t getting us anywhere,” Irina swung around and sliced a man through the abdomen. Excalibur’s power was fading: even with the crest of Dominic, she didn’t have an endless amount of energy. 

“Maybe we should regroup-” 

The earth quaked enough to knock both of them off balance. 

When Bran regained his footing, he paled. “What… is that?” 

A gigantic mechanical thing stomped toward them; it was so enormous that Bran figured he was likely only as tall as the contraption’s ankle. It had a barrel of a torso and ridiculously muscular arms, one of which was wearing a sword like a glove and the other carrying a rectangular shield.

“Fuck…” Irina searched the area. “Do you see anyone who might be controlling it?” Something told her fighting whatever that was wouldn’t be the brightest idea. 

Before Bran could muster a response, the machine swiped its sword through the air, and a wave came surging toward them. They jumped out of the way in time, but it left a deep crevice in the ground where it had passed. 

“Distance—we need distance!” 

In the skies, the situation had hardly improved. Even more snipers had diverted their efforts to the Kliment and Mathilda. The young Gautier piloted Fenya expertly, ducking and dodging everything sent their way, but he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever.

“I’m open to suggestions,” he called over his shoulder.

“Do you want honesty, or optimism?” 

“Just say it!”

Mathilda only grazed their attackers with her next few shots. “This isn’t working. _None of this_ is working. We’ll die if we don’t pull back.” 

“That’s fine by me!” He reined Fenya in and made a sharp turn away from the mountain. “Let’s get the others and get the hell out!” 

___

Regrouping didn’t give them any advantages. They were still outnumbered one thousand to one and any remaining energy the group possessed was fading fast. For now, the teens just needed to run. 

“Keep moving, don’t look back!” Bran and Vera had become the rearguard, the blonde swinging her lance wildly and the raven-haired marksman no longer bothering to aim.

“Wasn’t planning on it!” Vera shouted, ushering Nikolai ahead of her. 

Abruptly, Irina stopped. “Everyone, get in front of me!” 

“Are you insane?!” Nikolai screeched without stopping. 

Irina charged, hands harnessing every ounce of power she had left. Vera tried to grab her, but the other girl was too fast. 

“What are you doing?!” Bran cried. 

“As long as I draw breath, the enemies of the Kingdom will **_never_ ** prevail.” A circle of magic extended out from Irina, encompassing the entire path. “EXCALIBUR.” She enclosed herself in a tornado fierce enough to blow several people back, and push her allies forward. Irina sprinted out of the gale, dreary eyed and panting. Bran supported her with his shoulder before she collapsed. 

“Well, damn,” he said, “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” 

“You’ll be on the bad end of a sword swing if we don’t _move_.” 

Just then, Fenya swooped down to ground level. Mathilda hopped off and took an exhausted Irina from Bran. “Rina needs a ride more than I do.” She passed her charge over to Kliment, who pulled her up and onto his saddle.

They fled for what felt like hours until they finally reached the patch of trees where their horses had been tied off.

“Where do we go now?” Mathilda asked, throwing herself onto Vera’s steed. 

“Anywhere that ain't here!” Bran said, clambering onto his own horse.

The distant sound of heavy footfalls had Kliment motioning Fenya into the air again. “You have got to be kidding me.” Those Agarthans weren’t giving up anytime soon: a good bunch of them were on horseback and closing in quickly. 

Vera bit her lip harshly, drawing a bit of blood in the process. “How many?” 

Irina strained to get a decent look. “Too many,” she reported. 

Then, something strange occurred: two strangers rode past the six exhausted kids, and engaged the Agarthans in their place. One of them was a sorcerer, and called down a wide-ranged Abraxas to stun their foes. The other—a bow knight—drew and launched arrows with impressive precision given the frequency with which they did so. 

“Who in their right mind would- Never mind,” Nikolai shook his head. They needed to find a secure location so he could tend to the wounded.

“Should we just leave them…?” Kliment asked, clearly torn. “Sane or not, they’re _saving_ us.” 

Vera grimaced. “I hate to do this, but we can’t stop now,” she spurred her horse on. “We need to get as much distance between ourselves and those weird mole people as possible.” 

“Where to?” Nikolai asked. He hadn’t yet thought about where they were going, only that they needed to be riding away as fast as they could

Mathilda got an idea. “We’re really close to the Adrestian Territories right now. There’s a small village in Bergliez lands we can lay low in.” 

“Then that’s where we’re going.” Vera set her horse into a gallop, with Mathilda telling her the way. The six rode in relative silence, with her occasional directions as the only chatter. 

___

—Gronder Field, Adrestian Territory— 

It was beginning to grow dark when they crossed the Airmid River and reached the start of Gronder Field. Rather than traverse the massive area at night, the group decided to make camp in a nearby woodland. Nikolai’s first priority was looking everyone over for serious injuries. Somehow, everyone had only sustained scrapes and bruises; Irina was by far the worst off, and her exhaustion was self-inflicted. It was because of this that she wasn’t looking forward to the prince’s medical attention—it would inevitably lead to a scolding. 

Irina saw Nikolai approach with his supplies in hand, and slumped off the log she was sitting on. “Let’s get the lecture over with. I’m ready.”

He stared in disbelief. “Lecture- you can’t just do… whatever the hell that was. It could have _killed_ you.” 

“What I did was harness the full power of Excalibur to put distance between us and our pursuers. And I succeeded.” Irina rolled her eyes dismissively.

“Very nearly at the cost of your life.” Nikolai took hold of her arm, rolling the sleeve up to inspect her cuts.

Her nonchalant demeanor shifted, and her gaze turned cold. “This entire mission nearly cost all of us our lives,” she said scathingly. 

“Don’t deflect,” Nikolai admonished, “you know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not deflecting,” Irina barked, jerking her arm away. “What did you and Vera think was going to happen when we marched into unknown enemy lands? Hell, how did either of you think you could have possibly succeeded on your own? Considering all your talk about the value of life, it seems _extremely_ hypocritical.” 

Nikolai gaped at her as if she’d just slapped him. “That’s not- You can’t-”

“Honestly, I only went along with this idiocy so I could keep you two from dying horribly.” She was outright glaring at him, fury burning in her eyes. “Our best bet at countering a threat of this caliber is bringing back evidence of its existence and getting the King involved.” 

“Even if we did have tangible proof, I am not going back to my father.” Nikolai frowned and began aggressively unrolling some gauze. “I now know how he settles things, and Vera and I won’t allow that to happen again.” He attempted to return to his work, but his patient wasn’t having it.

“Oh. My. Goddess.” Irina could feel her head pounding at the sheer stubbornness. “So what you’re saying is that the corruption runs too deep for there to be any hope of redemption? That sounds an awful lot like a certain Emperor’s mentality when she plunged Fódlan into war.” 

That comparison wasn’t one he had ever expected, and it washed over him like an oppressive wave. “I-Irina…” 

She calmed slightly at the displeasure in his tone. “Listen to me. Are those war atrocities the only impact your father has ever made? No. Because of him, abject poverty in the Faerghus Territories has dramatically decreased. Duscur is being rebuilt. Fódlan is a unified nation. You can’t pretend none of that exists; you can’t pretend he wouldn’t help us if we asked.” 

“...” 

“If we try to engage the Agarthans again, we _will_ die.” 

Nikolai turned his face to the night sky. “...I’m not ready to forgive him yet.” 

“I’m beginning to think you two care less about helping Fódlan and more about running away from something you can’t handle,” Irina got up, running a tired hand over her face. This whole thing had been a terrible mistake. “I should have stopped you from leaving.” 

“No one is keeping you here against your will. If that’s truly what you think of us, then feel free to leave.” 

“Nikolai,” Irina breathed, gravely serious, “if you’re going to try attacking Shambhala again, I will _drag_ your ass back to Garreg Mach.” 

“I don’t know what our next move is, and frankly neither does Vera,” Nikolai said with barely-contained anger. “So I suggest we both turn in for the night.”

“Whatever,” Irina scoffed. “Just don’t lecture me about the importance of my safety _ever_ again. Not after actively jeopardizing everyone else’s lives.” 

___

Mathilda sat on top of her bedroll, counting her arrows. She would definitely need to buy more soon: the majority had been wasted on enemy wyverns. That realization brought a small smile to her face; there was a market stall not too far from the Bergliez estate that sold quality arrows. Maybe she could even get a new bow. It was a little thing, but everything about being here—being _home_ —filled her with an undeniable sense of freedom. Here, in Adrestia, Mathilda could finally breathe. 

“Interesting mix of skills you’ve got going there. How’d you come to learn both grappling and archery?” Bran must have approached her while she was lost in thought. She gave her companion her undivided attention. His injuries looked much worse than her own; there was a shallow cut along his cheek and darkening bruises on both his forearms from rock falls.

Mathilda was no medical professional, but she could at least try to lighten Nikolai’s load. She pulled out a jar of salve and motioned him to sit beside her. “My parents—Papa’s a master grappler, and Dad’s an incredible shot. Pop tried to teach me magic once, but I don’t have the aptitude for it.” She quickly dressed the wounds: Nikolai would look over her work later anyway. 

“Hm. My ma taught me,” said Bran. “She’s one of the best there is. My big sis, Nora, on the other hand, takes after Dad. But I always got this feeling that he wanted his first son to follow in his footsteps so that they could duke it out.”

“You’re probably overthinking that,” Mathilda went back to organizing her weaponry. “Something tells me you overthink a lot of things.” 

Bran chuckled ruefully and shrugged his bony shoulders. “It’s kept me alive this long - I ain't stopping anytime soon.” 

“You take too long to aim,” she stated bluntly. “You second guess your shots, and as a result you take more time to fire than you actually need. That’s why you weren’t hitting anything when we were running.” Her observation was pointed, but it didn’t seem to faze Bran. 

“Guess I’m used to targets that don’t know I’m there. Back home, failure means no dinner. I can’t afford to miss.” 

“You low on arrows?” Mathilda asked, switching topics. 

Bran looked genuinely surprised at her implied offer. “I’m good, thanks,” he said. “Besides, you’d be waiting a long time until I’d be able to pay you back.”

“You’re kidding right? I gave you all of _my_ money at the inn. I’m talking about using the _group’s_ funds when we get to a market stall.” 

Bran shifted in his seat nervously. “I’m broke, so there’s no cash that I can contribute,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “I don’t wanna be a freeloader-”

“Bran, the group’s funds are your funds. I’m not talking about some spending spree: we need to load up on essentials when we get the chance.” Then, she realized the root of his discomfort. “Is this because you don’t want to spend ‘rich kid’ cash?” 

“What? No, I just don’t want to be indebted to any of you,” he explained, his hands raised in a placating gesture.

She grabbed him by his shoulders. “No one here will expect you to pay them back for anything. We’re allies, remember? This whole teamwork thing won’t really work out if you think you owe us whenever we do something minor for you.” 

At that, Bran’s eyes went wide. “Something… ‘minor’?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “Stocking up on all that crap ain't big deal for you? Damn, I didn’t know Adrestia was recovering so well.”

Mathilda let go of him, gaining a contemplative look. “Enbarr was the only thing that really needed rebuilding. And I already told you, it’s not _my_ money.” 

“Oh,” he said flatly. Bran’s eyes turned bitter and expression darkened. He hugged his knees and looked away.

“It’s honestly surprising,” she muttered, not noticing his condition. “You’d think the insurgence would’ve led to more physical damage.” Her companion didn’t respond, but she continued on. “I guess we just got lucky on that front.” 

“Luck. Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

“You okay? Does something hurt?” 

“Everyone in the Territories is hurt,” Bran murmured.

Mathilda idly pulled on the hood of her overcoat. “I honestly didn’t know you guys were so much worse off,” she admitted. “It isn’t fair.” 

The boy beside her chuckled acidicly. “Oh yeah,” he breathed, “We’re worse off, alright. Soldiers marched across our country with their scorched-earth strategy, destroying farms and villages full of people that did nothing to deserve it.”

“It was a stupid war,” Mathilda agreed. “I don’t know what provoked the Emperor to start something so horrendously insane.” 

“I’ll tell you what _really_ isn’t fair.” Bran was seething at this point, clenching his teeth and balling his fists. “I come home to a ghost town, and find no food in the pantry with five mouths to feed. My neighbors are dropping like flies because they can’t grow any crops. Meanwhile, _your people_ keep living their happy lives, ignorant of the suffering that they don’t attempt to fix - let alone take responsibility for.”

Her response was entirely too calm for him. “My people tried to take their nation back and were slaughtered in the process. Just because our fields weren’t razed doesn’t mean there isn’t any suffering.” 

Bran let out a startlingly loud laugh, his expression haunted. “And the shit that you Adrestians did is _still_ affecting us. If the children ain’t dead, then their parents are. Entire cities have been wiped off the face of the earth. The nobles that used to govern our lands have abandoned us.”

“Bran,” she started, not particularly wanting to argue about who deserved to suffer more. “I think I may have given you the wrong idea. Let’s get something clear: the country I love and mourn for isn’t the Emperor who thought drenching the earth in blood would somehow help anyone, and it isn’t the soldiers who carried out her commands without so much as a second thought. It’s the workers who were forced to break their backs to find that lust for destruction and the merchants who had to cut their losses and adapt. My Adrestia is the people who had no idea what the hell was going on.” 

The raven-haired boy bit his lip as tears gathered in his golden eyes. “I thought you of all people would get it,” he whispered. “But you’re just as complicit as the rest.” Bran went to his own bedroll, back turned to her, and buried himself in his blanket.

Mathilda inhaled, using her breathing to fend off any residual sorrow. Trying to approach him now wouldn’t do either of them any good; they were both too exasperated. So, instead, she flopped into a somewhat comfortable position and drifted off. 

___

“Hey,” Kliment approached the princess hesitantly. It was obvious she was busy, but he needed to know how his companion was fairing. 

Vera briefly glanced up from the map she was occupied with. “Oh, hey Klem. Did you want to ask me something?” Her voice was strained from exhaustion. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“Fine. What about you?” She set things aside, making room for him to settle beside her. 

Kliment chuckled tiredly. “A little shaken up, but I’ll manage,” he replied. “Is there a reason you’re wearing out your eyes staring at the map?” 

“I need to figure out,” Vera gestured at everything around them. “all of this. We obviously won’t get anywhere by launching a direct attack, and we still know too little about their capabilities. Right now,” she blew the hair out of her face, “I honestly don’t know.” 

The redhead nodded along. “Have you considered getting some rest and coming back refreshed?” he suggested none too subtly.

“Hah. My brother said the same thing.” 

“A wise man, that one,” Kliment teased. “Seriously, though, you’re no good to anyone like this.” 

“I know,” to her credit, she actually put the map away. “But I need to know where we go after reaching Bergliez. The soldiers will catch up with us if we dawdle.” 

“Trust Mattie to handle that,” he insisted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Tomorrow is another day.”

Vera’s demeanor went from tired to serious. “We don’t stand a single chance against the Agarthans: not on our own at least.” 

“No, we don’t,” Kliment agreed. “But we _especially_ don’t if we’re half-asleep.” He smiled reassuringly. “C’mon.”

She waved him off. “I’ll sleep in a bit.” Vera extracted Hubert von Vestra’s notes from her rucksack. “The person who gave these to Nikolai—we need to find them.” She started scanning the pages. “Whoever they are, they’re likely our only shot at success.” 

Kliment sighed defeatedly. “Very well, if you’re-” 

Hoofbeats interrupted him. Out of nowhere, two horses stomped into their campsite, the riders dismounting and taking stock of the group before them. Both Vera and Kliment gasped at their familiarity: it was the two from before. 

The bow knight cleared her throat. “Pardon the interruption, but your benefactor has requested your presence. We would appreciate it if you came quietly.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Vera blurted, standing tall and wearing an authoritative expression. “Just who do you think you are?”

Behind her, the magic-user breathed an impatient sigh and shook his head. “Way to sound non-threatening,” he muttered. The man approached, lowering his hood and raising his hands peacefully. “We aren’t here for conflict. The person who sent us to save you wants to talk to you.” 

Due to the abundance of noise, the other party members had shaken themselves awake and surrounded their newcomers. 

Mathilda joined them with a yawn worthy of her father. “Vera,” she slurred sleepily, “who are these people?” She was still wiping the drowsiness from her eyes.

“I’m Otis,” the sorcerer spoke, and jerked his thumb at the woman beside him, “and this is Rosalind. We helped you out earlier, remember?” 

Rosalind made no such attempt to placate them. “Now, for your own sake, we need you to follow us. Quickly.”

Irina, of course the only one of them that was wide awake, lowered a hand to her sword. “And if we refuse?” she asked, a veiled threat in her tone.

Neither of them appeared fazed. Rosalind even rolled her eyes before replying. “Then you’ll never find out who set you on this journey in the first place.” With that, the two mounted their steeds, looking at the teens expectantly. 

Nikolai deliberated a moment before he stepped forward. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll go with you.” His companions shuffled behind him, unsure how they should proceed.

Vera pulled him aside. “We can’t just trust two random strangers.” 

“They saved our lives, Vera,” Nikolai reminded her.

“More than likely because of their own agenda,” she looked over her shoulder at the duo in question. “Something just feels… Weird about them.” 

Her brother placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “If anything happens, then we’ll face it together,” he said, all steely determination, “Just like always.”

“Fine,” Vera let him go and approached her own horse. “Let’s find out who our benefactor is.” 

___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank notallfoxes for helping me write all of these chapters. The quality here would not be the same without them.


	7. Unforeseen Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally comes face to face with their benefactor.

14th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202

—Aurik Village, Adrestian Territory— 

The six teenagers weren’t expecting to end up in the Frost Fair Inn—it was overflowing with patrons and beer fueled banter. The whole thing seemed far too rambunctious for whoever their mystery helper was. Rosalind dodged through the patrons with practiced ease and they soon lost sight of her. Otis stayed with them, most likely to ensure they didn’t wander off. Eventually, Bran grew tired of standing around and tried to start a discussion. 

“So, we here to drink or meet a shadowy puppet master?” Bran asked dryly.

Otis blatantly ignored him, any trace of friendliness now entirely gone. 

“Good talk,” he huffed. Mathilda giggled and they locked eyes before quickly looking away. 

Vera impatiently tapped her heel. “What kind of person are we dealing with here?” She whispered to no one in particular. 

“Someone with the resources to sneak a dead man’s last wish into the monastery without anyone batting an eye.” Irina replied. She was tense, ready to draw her blade at a moment’s notice. 

“That’s… certainly one way of putting it,” Kliment said, eyeing the characters around them. For once, he wished that he’d taken after Irina and brought his lance with him.

Nikolai wrung his hands, silently praying he hadn’t led them into something just as dangerous as Shambhala. He nudged Otis. “What exactly did she go off to do?” 

“Make a report,” was the sorcerer’s simple response. There was muffled, ‘Well, that explains everything’ behind them, no doubt Bran resorting to snark to keep the mood up. Nikolai looked downward to hide his smile; this was not the time for humor.

Finally, after several minutes, Rosalind popped up again. She was standing on a barstool to be seen above the crowd, and frantically motioned for them to come forward. The once stoic bow knight was now incredibly anxious. They pushed their way through the drunks and arrived at the bar where the innkeep was polishing a glass. She gave them a once-over before going back to her business.

Rosalind made a vague gesture to the back area and swiftly walked into a guest room near the end of the hall. They glanced nervously at each other, but followed nonetheless. 

“She actually wants to talk to them,” Rosalind explained, shutting the door.

“Truly?” Otis sounded quite surprised. He rummaged through a thin wardrobe near the bed, feeling around the wooden backboard. “They must be quite the special bunch.” He finally found a loose board, and pulled it up and pressed on a knot in the wood grain. The closet slid aside to reveal a stairway. 

“Meh, they don’t look like much to me.” Rosalind had gone back to being dismissive. Her change was jarring to say the least. “Follow.” 

The teens trudged down the creaky set of steps into what appeared to be a cellar with a decent amount of space. A threadbare rug took up most of the floor, and a large crate had been pushed close to the back wall to function as a desk; behind it was a chipped wooden chair. Several bookshelves surrounded it, and there were a few scattered barrels that contained various weapons, tonics, and parcels. 

“Your hard work will be rewarded,” an alto voice echoed down from the stairs. The six teenagers spun around to find the innkeeper wearing an all black apron and undershirt. She was a slender woman with dark green hair kept in a messy bun and rounded glasses that obscured her magenta irises. Her smile was too faultless to be entirely real. 

Her subordinates bowed before passing her on their way back up the stairs. “Hello. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? Apart from nearly dying, of course.”

“May we know the name of our savior?” Irina spoke up.

“Certainly. You may call me Maura.” Maura made her way to the center of the room, making brief eye contact with all six of them in the process. 

There was a standstill before Mathilda made an expectant face. “That’s it?” she asked, her voice steeped in annoyance. 

Maura shook her head, her smile widening. “For all your promise, you’re still just children,” she sounded like an amused yet disappointed parent. “You can’t just _attack_ Shambhala.”

“You!” The cry of recognition left Nikolai with enough volume to cause an echo. Their host tilted her head in amusement. “You’re the maid, the one who gave me the journal!”

“Are- are you sure?” Vera stammered. So she was the boss, _and_ the person who snuck into the academy? That was impressive if not troubling. 

Maura’s laugh was light and insincere. “It took you quite some time to realize that,” she said. The bespectacled woman took a seat on her crate-desk, leaning back on her arms lazily.

“Why did you go to all this trouble? What do you want from us?” Irina demanded. 

The barkeep didn’t seem to mind Irina’s rudeness, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m in the business of exchanging favors,” she began. “I gave you information, and you helped me by deciding to act on it. Now I’ve pulled you from the jaws of death, so you can do something in return for me.”

Kliment had to force himself to stop shaking. He had no idea why, but he had been trembling since this woman entered the room. “And what might that be?”

“More importantly, what if we refuse?” Bran ventured, raising a brow. 

“Oh that just wouldn’t do. I wonder what I’d have to resort to if that were the case…” Maura walked around to the other side of her desk, tapping her cheek in thought. “How about I tell you what I want first, and then you can decide if you’re agreeable? As a show of good faith, you can each ask me any one question you want!” She sat down, chin in her hands. 

Vera started the interrogation. “How did you obtain the documents you gave us?” 

“I’m a Vestra. We have our ways.” 

“Wait, you aren’t…?” Nikolai trailed off, too stunned to finish. 

Maura answered his unspoken inquiry. “Hubert von Vestra’s daughter? Yes, yes I am.” 

Everyone paused at the revelation. “So is this your way of honoring his last wish?” Mathilda asked in quiet understanding. 

“No.” 

Mathilda stammered in surprise. Her response had lacked any hesitation. “Then why-”

“Next question,” Maura cut her off mercilessly. 

Kliment decided to take a chance. “Who were those people from earlier?” 

“Two of my associates.”

Bran lolled his head back. “Well, obviously, but why do you _have_ associates? What is it you’re running here, woman?” 

“That’s two questions, but I suppose I’ll allow it,” Maura stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her apron. “Do you know what the lifeblood of any nation is?” 

“The people,” Vera answered with absolute certainty.

Maura rounded on her. “But _which_ people? Most seem to believe it’s the ones lording their power and status over the rest of us,” she chuckled and looked right at Bran. “You should know that isn’t true.” 

The raven-haired boy smirked. “Common folk,” he said, “The workers that keep everything running.” Maura patted him on the head like he was an obedient dog; he jerked away and threw her a glare.

“Good boy,” she purred. Her grin took a turn for the sinister. “But when those laborers are slighted by the officials meant to govern them, they typically don’t have any options, do they?” This time, her gaze landed on the princess. 

Vera shriveled under her scrutiny, the events of Sauin Village playing in her mind again. She knew it was impossible, but it felt as though Maura was making a subtle reference to what had taken place there. The blonde shook her head; she was being ridiculous.

“Actually, I should say that they _didn’t_ have any options. Not until I bought this inn.” She beamed at Mathilda next. “Not until I decided to hold a little conference with some of the Bergliez maids.” 

“What?” Mathilda perked up. “What do you mean by ‘conference’? When did this happen? And why?” The girl frantically fired off questions that she had a sinking suspicion she wouldn’t get answers to.

“Darling, you already asked your question.” Maura stopped at the sound of hurried footsteps above them; she pushed one of her bookcases to the left and walked into a darkened secret room. “Be right back,” she cooed with a wink. The sound of blades and clothing shifting around could be heard. 

“Um, hey, what’s going on?” Nikolai asked, walking up to the place Maura had disappeared into. She emerged just as he got to the doorway, a smile ever present. 

“Milady,” Otis ran down the steps, looking extremely concerned. “Lord Engel is here, and he has mercenaries with him.” 

“Well, that just won’t do,” she said. “Have my other patrons vacated the premises?” 

“They ran as soon as weapons were drawn.” 

Maura tsked, her grin shrinking just a fraction. “I’ll entertain our new arrivals. You stay with my guests.” She almost seemed to float upstairs, apron fluttering in her wake. 

Not two minutes later did they hear the rapid shuffling of feet, breaking glassware, and pained grunts above them. The ruckus persisted for maybe a minute longer before everything went deathly quiet. Shortly after, Maura returned, her clothes somewhat rumpled but otherwise unchanged. 

“Otis, be a dear and help Rosalind dispose of a few bodies,” she said casually. Maura walked back down, tugging an extremely perturbed middle aged nobleman behind her. “Don’t be rude, Engel,” she tossed him to the ground. “Say hello.” 

The man sputtered, crawling backward until he hit a wall. “Release me at once!” he hissed. 

Bran blinked at the scene before him. “Uh, should we be seeing this?” He looked at his companions who were equally as baffled. Kliment shushed him, face pale. 

“Hmm, nope,” Maura popped the ‘p’ playfully. “What I _will_ do is have you neatly castrated if you don’t heed my words.”

Engel’s fat face lost all color and he discreetly pressed his legs together. “Out with it, then!” he spat, trying his damnedest to sound unaffected.

Maura crouched next to him, brushing some dust off of his suit. “I need you to go back to your cushy little estate and pretend that none of this happened. And if you ever lay a hand on another stableboy,” she pulled a dagger from beneath her apron and twirled it lethally close to his neck. “well I suppose no real man would cave to an empty threat.” In a blur of motion, her knife found its home in Engel’s gut. 

His scream was bloodcurdling, but Maura only hushed him. “Geneva!” She called, leaving the man’s side with clear distaste. “Clean him up. Don’t do anything to numb the pain.” 

“What in the _hell_ was that?!” Nikolai shrieked. The prince attempted to intervene, but Bran held him back.

Maura’s saccharine smile was downright unsettling. “This is a very, _very_ bad man,” she explained patronizingly. “The things he’s done? Oho, if you knew, you’d demand that I kill him.” The green-haired hostess walked around them back to her seat, cleaning her knife all the while.

Geneva, a small woman with curly brown hair came out from behind another bookshelf. She pushed a stretcher out, piled a still screaming Engel onto it, and shut the shelf door behind her. 

“But, that _disgusting_ predator has his uses.” Maura’s nose crinkled. “He is, unfortunately, going to act as my associate for the next couple of months.” She slipped her blade back up her sleeve, and the look she gave Nikolai chilled him to the bone. “And rest assured, if he steps out of line, I will know.” Engel sobbed violently from his enclosure. There was a slap followed by a gagging noise.

All too abruptly, her fake grin returned as she clapped her hands together. “Now, with that out of the way, let’s discuss our current arrangement.”

“You’re-” Nikolai tried to speak, but there was too much of a lump in his throat. “That’s-”

“Entirely irrelevant. The back three rooms are yours for the foreseeable future. Get some sleep. We can speak more in the morning.” 

“Hey!” Mathilda went up to her. “You can’t show us shit like that and expect us to put our faith in you.” 

“Darling,” Maura batted her lashes. “It would be rather imbecilic of you to trust someone you just met.” 

___

It was when Nikolai had settled as best he could in one of the guest rooms that he realized Vestra’s notebook and letter were missing. No matter how much he rifled through his things, the parchments were nowhere in sight. 

After everyone else rooted through their belongings, Irina was struck by the only possible explanation. “She took them back.” 

“Why?” Vera fumed. “What could be in there that she doesn’t already know?”

Bran shook his head, a rueful smirk on his lips. “You don’t get it,” he said. “Maura's a good actor, but she took her stuff back 'cuz it's personal.”

“I… actually doubt that,” Irina continued. “She doesn’t strike me as someone who’d waste time on sentiments. Didn’t you notice how she responded to Mattie bringing up her father? No reservation. Hell, she said his name like it was a reference to the weather.” 

It was no business of his, yet Nikolai couldn’t help wondering what, if anything, had happened between Hubert and Maura. A part of him wondered if he would one day say his own father’s name with such disregard. 

“Well,” Mathilda shrugged tiredly, “we can stand here speculating all day, or enjoy sleeping on a real bed again.” She was already walking back to her own room. “Hope you’ve made your decision, because I’ve sure as shit made mine.”

Bran turned to follow suit, only to come face to face with the very woman they’d been discussing. “Oh! Uh, hey, lady!” he managed to get out once his heart ceased racing. “W-What can I do you for?”

Maura looked intently at him, and then at everyone left in the room. “One last little thing before I let you get to sleep. I’m going to ask all of you very nicely—and this is the one and only time I’ll ask: do not pry into affairs that don’t concern you,” She removed her glasses; it made her gaze much more intense. “I will let you know what does and _doesn’t_ concern you. And Your Highness? I burned those documents.” 

“You did _what?_ ”

“Good night!” 

As soon as Maura was gone, Bran slowly turned to face his equally shocked companions. “How the _fuck_ does she expect us to sleep after that?!” he whisper-yelled, and this time, Nikolai didn’t bother hiding his laugh at the shift in mood.

___

“Good morning!” Maura chirped from behind her bar. Spread across it was an assortment of fresh bread, strawberry jam, and apple juice. “I figured I may as well make customers out of you while you’re here. Help yourselves.” 

For their part, Bran and Mathilda eyed the meal with a healthy degree of suspicion. The others sat themselves down while their two companions stayed behind.

Maura grabbed a book and seated herself at a corner table. “Darlings,” she addressed the only ones who weren’t eating. “if I wanted you dead…” Maura trailed off, letting them fill the obvious blank as she turned to a dog eared page. And so, the remaining teens joined their company. Discreetly, Bran took a single slice of bread for his whole breakfast. He was unaware of the concern Nikolai and Mathilda sent his way.

Breakfast neared its end right as the innkeeper reached the finale of her novel. “While you’re all here, I’d like to discuss your assignment for the next week or so,” she tucked her reading material away. “I need you to listen very carefully: lay the fuck low.” 

Kliment spat out his drink at the use of vulgarity so early in the day. With a snicker, Vera struck him firmly on the back as he started to cough. Irina unabashedly rolled her eyes before addressing Maura. “And… that’s it?” she asked, “You act like that’s a challenge for us.” 

“I assume anyone who would attack Shambhala without a plan is mentally challenged in some regard.” Maura paid Vera’s glower no mind. “If you attract the attention of any guards, you’re on your own. I refuse to waste resources saving you from something of your own making. Stay out of trouble. Should all go well,” she returned to her place at the bar. “You’ll get to have some fun.” 

“So we’re under house arrest?” Bran griped. 

“Hardly. Do as you please. Just avoid being caught.” The Vestra went back into the cellar, where she would presumably be for the remainder of the day. 

“Since we’re allowed to leave,” Mathilda slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m going to the market. Anyone wanna come?” 

Bran almost stood to follow her before he thought better of it and sat down. Mathilda’s lips twitched into a slight frown. The others seemed pretty preoccupied, but Nikolai smiled and joined her. 

“I’d be happy to see the sights,” he said and fastened his own satchel across his chest.

The pair emerged onto a back alley where the Frost Fair Inn was nestled. Mathilda glanced in both directions before ushering to the left. Nikolai sighed heavily. “Was that necessary?” 

“Obviously, this area is _filled_ with shady people,” she continued to push him ahead of her. “And you look like a sitting duck.” 

“Wha- How?”

She hid a giggle and kept up her pace. “The way you walk for starters. You might as well be wearing a sign that says, ‘mug me’.” 

Nikolai sent a glare over his shoulder. “I will never understand you, Mattie,” he muttered. 

Right then, a lowlife bumped past them and tried to snatch Nikolai’s coin purse. Mathilda jabbed him in the ribs and ushered her friend in the other direction, trying and failing not to laugh at his shocked expression. 

“Did- Did you see that?!” Nikolai stuttered, eyes wide. He quickly patted himself down and checked his pockets to make sure that no sleight of hand had occurred.

“Keep walking, eyes in front. And try not to move like such a… big shot.” 

The blonde huffed in annoyance; perhaps he should keep an eye on his wallet instead. “What are we even here for?” he groaned, scanning the shops and vendors lining the street.

“A grumpy blacksmith with a skinny hunter for an apprentice. I need arrows and they can probably repair your sword in no time.” 

After rounding a corner, the duo was faced with quite a sight: a stout, thin-haired woman was brandishing a welding tool at a jumpy girl who stuttered apology after apology. 

“What do you mean you gave all of them a discount?!” 

“Th-They just seemed so nice-”

“I swear to the GODDESS- oh, hello Mattie! It’s always so nice to see you.” 

“Gretchen!” Mathilda smiled warmly. “Still driving hard bargains I see.”

Gretchen smirked. “You know I pour my heart and soul into my wares. Can’t give ‘em away for any less than they’re worth. _Isn’t that right_ , _Lillian?_ ” 

Lillian, a ginger stick of a girl, bowed lowly. “I-I am terribly sorry. I still have much to learn,” she lamented.

“Well, if you show us something good enough, maybe we,” Mathilda gestured between herself and Nikolai, “can make up for any money Lillie lost.” 

Lillian blushed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re nice, Mat.” The slight girl bundled a stack of arrows together and tied them off with a leather strap. “That’s,” she side eyed Gretchen. “fifty gold.” 

Gretchen nodded at the exchange and fished a pair of gleaming silver gauntlets out from a crate beside the stall. She passed the set to Mathilda, who gleefully tried them on. “I call them Breaker and Biter. Made ‘em with you in mind.” 

“And what’s wrong with ‘Death and Taxes’?” Mathilda joked.

“As an expert on naming weapons, I can promise you that ‘Breaker and Biter’ will instill fear in your enemies. ‘Death and Taxes’ works if you want your foes to laugh themselves to death.”

Nikolai stared at the gauntlets: they had more detailing than a standard pair. Intricate yet jagged lines covered the weapons, giving them a sinister shine. He couldn’t leave without seeing Gretchen’s blades. 

“Hahaha! Impressed, are ya? I can get you something of your own if you tell me what ya fancy.” 

His eyes sparkled. “Swords, please.” 

A loud crash sounded down the street. Everyone looked for the cause, but Mathilda found it first. When she saw Caspar apprehending a familiar pickpocket with Ashe and Linhardt calming the victimized vendor, she froze. 

“And next time you think about taking what isn’t yours,” Caspar shouted triumphantly, “just remember how badly you got your ass handed to ya by- _Mathilda_?” At the mention of their daughter, Linhardt and Ashe whipped around fast enough to give themselves whiplash.

“How much for the gear?” Mathilda asked, not looking away from her gobsmacked parents. She didn’t even wait for a response, dropping her purse on the wooden counter and saying a rushed thanks to Gretchen. “Do _not_ look back.” She took Nikolai’s arm and started walking away. 

An unnaturally strong gust of wind knocked them both over before Nikolai could even say anything. As they started to get up, Mathilda mumbled: “That’d be Pop. Obviously not in the mood for running after us. Crossroads up ahead.” She jumped to her feet. “You take left, I’m heading right.” His friend was already gone by the time Nikolai nodded in understanding; he took off with the form of a sprinter.

Ashe tossed his satchel to Linhardt and scaled the nearest building in under ten seconds. “I’m going after Mat. Cas, you’ve got the prince.” He didn’t stick around long enough to hear his blue-haired husband’s groan.

Linhardt slumped against the stall in utter exasperation. “I’ll stay here in case they come back.” 

Up ahead, Nikolai wove his way through a thick crowd, doing his best to blend in. He knew Caspar would be the one chasing him, and his chances at escape would be higher if he could throw him off his trail. Nikolai kept his head forward, but kept an ear out for anyone trying to force their way through. Thankfully, good old Uncle Caspar had never been subtle, and a loud, “Scuse me, comin’ through!” alerted him to his presence. 

With a low, “Sorry about this.” Nikolai shoved a gruff fellow into the back of a muscular workman that reeked of alcohol. Thrown punches were heard shortly after, and Nikolai couldn’t help feeling a little proud of himself.

“Alright, settle down fellas, ‘fore one of you gets hurt- Oh so you’re swinging at _me_ now, huh?!” 

Meanwhile, Matilda was leaping across rooftops, sliding under clotheslines, and dodging chimneys with the agility of a master assassin. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until Ashe was within yelling distance of her; he was the one who’d trained her after all. 

“Mattie, what’s all of this about?!” 

“Nunya!” she shouted back.

“N-Nunya?”

“Nunya business!”

“Good to see you still have a sense of humor. Seriously, we’ve been worried about you!”

A particularly large gap was coming up, but an open window in the shop on the other side gave Mathilda an idea. She pushed her legs to run faster and took a diving leap forward. Her angle was perfect; she rolled into a landing and was met with stunned shop owners. 

“Pardon my sudden intrusion, but could you point me to your back exit?” 

“R-Right behind me.” 

“Thanks!” She slammed her body against said door and stumbled back onto the street, tearing a small piece of her red overcoat off. Mathilda hooked it on a crack in a building that she promptly sprinted in the opposite direction of. Once she got a decent distance away, she started sticking to the shadows. 

A few blocks away, Nikolai felt certain he was in the clear. He didn’t have much farther to go until he reached the Frost Fair Inn, so he slowed his pace and took a breather against a brick wall. His breath sawed out of him and his legs trembled as the adrenaline wore off. 

“Found ya!” 

Nikolai jumped out of his skin. “H-How did- what the-?!” Caspar lugged the boy over his shoulder, whistling a tune as he headed back to the marketplace. 

“Once I stopped that brawl, it was pretty easy. You’ve never been all that stealthy, Your Highness.” Nikolai couldn’t even muster the energy to verbally protest; he prayed that Mathilda had gotten away.

Several streets down, Mathilda was still ducking in and out of the darkness that lurked between houses and shops. Ashe _probably_ couldn’t tell where she was, but without eyes on him that was an uncertainty. She had started slowly sneaking back to Frost Fair, but now she didn’t know whether that was a smart idea. If Ashe was following her, she’d be leading him into the den of their entire operation, but where else could she go? 

“Maybe I can duck into a tavern for the rest of the day…?” 

“Your best bet would probably be coming home to your family.”

Mathilda sulked and looked up to her dad squatting on the roof above her, gaze none too pleased. “How’d you find me?” 

Ashe dropped down to the street. “I know how you think, Mattie. I taught you everything I know too,” he smiled ruefully. 

“Listen, I know you’re mad, but-”

He closed the distance between them in an instant and captured her in a tender embrace. It took a few moments for Mathilda to process what had happened, but she eventually returned the gesture. There was a wetness at her shoulder, and she could feel Ashe trembling.

“Goddess knows how much you frightened us,” he breathed, his voice muffled against her neck. “I-I’m not doing a bad job, am I? You can tell me, I-I know I can do better, please…”

“It’s not you, Dad!” she assured, holding him tighter. “Me leaving had nothing to do with you. Why would you even think…” Mathilda trailed off when the reason suddenly occurred to her. How could he think anything else with the way she always acted around him? Tears welled. “Dad, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault you feel this way. I-I’m such an ungrateful brat.” 

“No, no, no,” he hushed her, “you could never do any of that.” Slowly, Ashe raised a hand and stroked the back of her head. “I-I know you’re mad because of the things I’ve done… You have every right to be.” His body shook with each sob. “I k-killed friends… _lovers_ … I’ve robbed, I-” he choked on his words and buried himself in their hold.

“No, stop that! I know y-you didn’t have much choice. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at this whole damn Kingdom,” she couldn’t stop herself from crying anymore. “You’re not being fair to yourself. _I’m_ not being fair.” 

A long, tear-filled pause passed before Ashe spoke again. “I see him sometimes,” he said, voice raw and emotionless. “He was… He was special to us, so good, had so much life left… And I killed him to save someone who didn’t even want to be alive.” He took a shuddering breath. “And now I see him as he was when he died. Your fathers try to help but… He’s a reminder of how unworthy I am.” 

“Dad…” Of course it was now when she wanted to comfort him that she couldn’t. Mathilda pulled away and looked her father in his reddened eyes. “Dad, can we- I mean, all we can do is try to keep going, right? Let’s try,” she took his hands in hers. “Together.” 

Ashe bit his quivering lip and squeezed her palm. “Okay,” he said in a tiny, shaky tone. “I’ll try. For you.”

___

When they made it back to the marketplace, it was Linhardt who first threw his arms around them. He clung to them like a bear would to a tree, with both arms and legs wrapped around his husband and daughter. 

He gave Mathilda his sternest expression. “Never. Again,” Linhardt somehow pulled the two even closer. “I lost so much sleep worrying about you,” he scolded, threading his fingers through her black tresses. 

She took her scolding, nuzzling into his chest. “Sorry, Pop.” 

Caspar almost knocked them all over. “MATTIE!” he bawled, lifting the three members of his family into his arms. “YOU SCARED ME DAMNIT.” 

“Papa.” Mathilda couldn’t think of any other words: now, surrounded by the ones who cared for her most, she didn’t need to say anything except, “I love you.” 

“Could, um… Could someone put me down?” Nikolai asked awkwardly from where he was sprawled over Caspar’s shoulder.

___


	8. The Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day with the Bergliez-Hevring family.

15th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Aurik Village, Adrestian Territory—

Maura’s eye twitched. The four remaining teenagers could only offer her apologetic looks. “Go,” she said, not looking up from the papers on her desk. 

“Um, we _are_ sorry about this,” Kliment tried. 

“ **Go**.” The underlying threat in her tone was enough to send them all, even Vera, upstairs and out the door. 

Rosalind, who had reported Nikolai and Mathilda’s apparent capture, tsked. “I knew they were nothing special.” 

“They’re definitely _special_. Just not in a good way.” 

___

“Okay, I _think_ I got it, but... just for everyone else’s sake, could you run that by me again?” Caspar asked with a lopsided grin.

It hadn’t been difficult to find the Bergliez-Hevring family; all the teenagers had to do was follow the overzealous shouting, and sure enough, they found three fathers showering their child in affection. And Nikolai was there too, looking incredibly embarrassed while balanced on Caspar’s shoulders.

Linhardt appeared thoughtful. “So, there’s an underground society of mole people bent on the destruction of Fódlan, and you ran away with the intention of stopping them?” Vera nodded jerkily, beyond grateful that she didn’t have to go through everything all over again.

Caspar was dumbfounded. “Wait, you actually understood all that?” 

Ashe gave his husband a soft look. “It _really_ wasn’t that hard to pick up on, Cas.”

Mathilda idly kicked her legs from her place in Caspar’s arms; he probably wouldn’t put her down until he was certain she wouldn’t run off again. “I thought it was crazy at first too, Papa, but it’s all real. We fought them, and barely got out alive.” 

Linhardt hummed. “It’s rather strange that a group of such size and power would go almost two decades without doing anything,” he turned his gaze to the runaways. “How did you come across this information, anyway?” 

Nikolai gulped and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible. “I stumbled across some notes hidden in Garreg Mach’s library.” 

“Right.” Linhardt sounded skeptical to say the least. 

“We can talk about this later.” Bran looked between Caspar and Nikolai. “Are, uh, are you gonna set him down anytime soon?” he asked hesitantly. “‘Cuz that does not look comfortable _at all_.” The blonde mouthed a ‘THANK YOU’ at him, and Bran snorted a laugh. 

Once he was back on the ground, Nikolai glared at his sister. “Thanks for nothing.”

Vera smirked and patted his head. “You make a wonderful scarf, little brother.” 

“Well then,” Linhardt yawned, “shall we head back to the estate?” He stretched like a cat before collapsing against Ashe, his shorter partner staggering under the sudden added weight. “I do believe that a nap is in order.”

Mathilda yawned as well, slumping into Caspar’s grip like a limp noodle. “I haven’t gotten a good rest in ages.” She started nodding off right then and there. “We should… relax for the rest of today.” Both father and daughter were out like a light. 

Ashe chuckled. “Let’s trade.” He hefted Linhardt onto Caspar’s back and got Mathilda in exchange. Suddenly, Mathilda jolted herself awake and motioned her Dad back to Gretchen’s stall: the two made another purchase, and she settled back into her nap. 

As they began walking, Irina nudged Kliment. “You think Fenya will be okay here?” she asked.

“Maura assured me she’d be well cared for.” Kliment still fiddled with his cuffs nervously.

Vera crooked an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty big leap of faith you’re taking. Who’s to say that wasn’t just talk?” 

At that, Kliment was wringing his hands. He looked toward the inn before snapping back. “Should… Should I get her? I _should_ get her, shouldn’t I. I-I’m heading back right-” 

Irina huffed. “Klem, I think Maura’s smart enough to know that getting your wyvern killed won’t benefit anyone.” 

“Are you… sure? I mean, there’s a chance that Fenya could get restless and you know how she is when she gets-”

Irina tried to offer him a comforting glance, but her face had never been great at conveying solace. “Everything. Will be. _Fine_. Fenya will be _fine_. Try to relax, okay?” She rounded on Vera. “And you—just stop talking.” 

The princess raised her arms in surrender. “All right, okay!” she said exasperatedly before walking ahead of them. 

___

When they arrived at the Bergliez-Hevring household, Caspar and Ashe put their sleeping family members to bed on a sofa. The two instantly snuggled into each other despite being asleep; it was precious enough to bring tears to Caspar’s eyes. 

Everyone was encouraged to make themselves at home. Of course, Bran couldn’t bring himself to do that; he was terrified of touching anything. He kept his arms glued to his sides and followed the others, amazed that a house could even _be_ this big.

While the kids settled in the living room, Ashe noticed Bran standing off to the side. “You’re welcome to sit.” 

The country boy started and tried to smooth the wrinkles in his clothes. “I-I’m fine, sir, thank you,” he stammered. Bran had never felt so out of place in his life, and he’d spent the last several days traveling with _royalty_.

Ashe quickly realized where Bran’s discomfort stemmed from: he’d been in a similar position when he was younger. “It’s hard to get used to, isn’t it?” Bran furrowed his brow in confusion. Ashe motioned to everything around them. “All the space and furniture, I mean. It took me years to adjust.” 

Realization dawned on Bran; he recalled his parents wistfully regaling him with stories of their classmates at Officers Academy. “A-Are you, um, Ashe Ubert?” he asked. 

“Well, it’s Ashe von Bergliez-Hevring now, but yes.” 

“My-” he stopped himself and quickly bowed his head in respect. “My parents mentioned you a few times. I’m Bran Kirsten.”

Ashe blinked rapidly. “Oh, you’re Raphael and Leonie’s?” He could feel a lump growing in his throat. “I had no idea.” 

Bran chuckled self-consciously. “I know, I look nothing like them. W-Well I’ve been told I have Ma’s face and Dad’s eyes, but…” he trailed off and gestured at his complexion and hair. 

“Well,” Ashe coughed to clear his throat. He pinched himself; he had to stay in the present. “I can see some of Leonie’s fire in you, that’s for sure.” Bran flushed crimson, and Ashe managed a weary smile. “Do you have any siblings?” 

“Oh yeah, three of ‘em,” Bran beamed. “There’s my big sis Nora and the twins, Hester and Ignatz.”

And that name may as well have been Ashe’s death knell, because suddenly he wasn’t breathing anymore. When he forced himself to inhale, he smelled the putrid smoke and rotting flesh of Gronder. His nails dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood: this was the first time he’d fought so desperately to stay grounded. His eyes were scrunched shut, but he made them open, and then evaluated every corner of the living room, naming every object he saw. Ashe made himself list everything that had occurred today, from the major event of finding Mathilda to the mundane breakfast he’d had. He couldn’t drift off to Gronder every single time someone mentioned him: that would be no way to honor his memory. 

“...are always getting into fights,” the boy before him said, wearing a fond smile. “They’re good kids though. We’re saving up so that they can go to a good school someday.” 

The fact that he heard Bran’s voice and not a gut-wrenching scream was worthy of a celebration. Ashe almost teared up; he’d stayed in the present this time. Sure, his head was spinning and his body was entirely tense, but it was farther than he’d gotten since the end of the war. 

“My folks speak well of you, ya know,” Bran added. “Dad said you were one of the nicest, most genuine guys back at the Academy.”

Inhale. Exhale. “I’m certain they were exaggerating. Anyway, try to make yourself comfortable. And a little tip: start with the pillows.” Bran nodded, and made his way over to the other teens. Ashe stood, but his legs were so shaky he immediately fell back into his seat. Well, one step at a time. “Hey, Cas!” 

“Yeah, babe?” came from another room.

“Can you, um, come over here for a second?” Without another person to focus on, he was beginning to slip. The next thing he knew, Ashe was in his husband's arms and being led to another room.

“Easy there,” Caspar soothed, his hand at the small of Ashe’s back.

“I’m here,” Ashe gasped, taking Caspar’s free hand. “I’m here.” 

Caspar let him catch his breath, rocking them back and forth, before he spoke again. “What brought this on?”

“You saw the raven-haired kid, right? He’s a Kirsten.” 

It took a moment for Caspar to make the connection. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed, elated. Then he remembered Ashe’s attack. “Oh shit,” he said much less enthusiastically.

“And they named one of their other kids after…” Ashe doubted he’d ever be able to say his name out loud. “Him. They’ve told this boy all these nice things about me, but-” he swallowed, unable to finish. 

Caspar squeezed him tighter. “Raph’s always been a good man,” he said simply. Back in the day, Raphael hadn’t even sought revenge for the deaths of his parents; he’d known better than to do that. 

“What do I do, Cas?” Ashe asked, his voice a fragile thing.

“Right now, you rest. Let’s go.” 

___ 

Mathilda woke, disentangling herself from her Pop. “What’d I miss?” She rubbed her eyes, and looked toward her friends. Unfortunately, Bran was the one who caught her gaze. 

Bran bristled. “Not much.” He looked away, apparently taking an interest in the rug’s patterning. “We haven’t talked about anything important.” 

“Good, I guess.” Mathilda stood and went over to her bag. She fished out a sturdy black bow and tossed it to him. “I thought you might like this. It reminded me of you, anyway.” With that, she made her way to the kitchen. 

Bran stared dumbly at the weapon for a solid minute. Despite the coloring, it was made from silver. A subtle knot pattern weaved its way across the surface, and each of the bow’s tips ended in small, elegant bird wings. He didn’t deserve this.

Mathilda emerged from the kitchen, a basket of meat pies in hand. “It’s called Nightingale,” she explained, presenting him with the food. 

There was a long silence before Bran, averting his gaze, offered her the bow. “I can’t pay you back for this,” he muttered, “but thank you for your generosity.”

She bit into a pie, letting the rich flavor envelop her before replying. “I ain’t returning that, so I suggest you put it to use.” 

Bran’s eyes widened comically as he visibly struggled to form words. “I-I don’t get it,” he eventually got out.

“You don’t have to get it. Now shut up and eat.” 

“I… Thanks, but I ain't-”

“Oh my Goddess,” she started. “These are _so_ good. Seriously, try one.” 

He reached out with a trembling hand, which Mathilda knew had nothing to do with nerves, and accepted a pastry. The boy took a mouse-sized bite before nodding in approval. “S’good,” he said.

“Dad made them, ‘course they’re good. I’m gonna head to the archery range before it gets dark. Wanna come?” 

“Uh, sure. Okay.” Bran grabbed his old bow out of habit and tried to discreetly leave the food behind. 

Mathilda stopped him. “We’re taking the food,” she grabbed the basket, “and you’re taking your new bow. You need to see if it’s any good. Can’t have Gretchen ripping me off.” 

Bran hesitated before gathering his courage. “Why are you so nice to me?” he asked. “I basically insulted you and… Just why are you doing this?”

“Because we’re friends? And friends don’t quit on each other after an argument?” 

For the second time that day, Bran turned bright red. “Oh,” his voice cracked a bit, “okay.”

“Don’t look at me like that, B,” she whined. “It isn’t fair, you getting all pouty with your droopy, puppy eyes.” 

“M-My what? What isn’t fair?”

“Getting all ‘oh okay, I’ve never received kindness before’ and being so- ugh! Just hug me already!” Of course, Mathilda took the initiative and wrapped him in a bear hug; she tried not to think about how she could feel each of his ribs.

After they had left, Linhardt felt someone hovering over him and opened an eye. Caspar was standing above him, appearing incredibly concerned. 

“Did you _see_ that?” he hissed.

“No,” Linhardt stretched, “but I did hear it.”

“They were acting _super_ weird!” Caspar started pacing, which never led to anything good. “And he said he _insulted_ Mattie. Do you think it was a _lover’s_ spat?” He took Linhardt’s shoulder, jostling him. “Do you think he broke our girl’s heart?!” 

Linhardt stifled a laugh before patting his husband’s cheek. “Fret not, Caspar,” he cooed, “That boy is most assuredly gay.”

“How can you tell? It ain’t written on his forehead, Lin!” 

The crest scholar sighed melodramatically. “Perhaps if you used your eyes, you would have noticed him starting at a certain blonde quite attentively.” 

___

“Look out!”

Irina ducked out of the way of Caspar’s fist just in time. She flipped backwards, landing at Vera’s side. “Thanks,” she mumbled, staring at the ground. Vera nudged her. 

“You okay?” 

Irina nodded half heartedly, the exhilaration that came with fighting absent. In its place was overwhelming anxiety and crippling guilt: how many things would her mother forget to do in the midst of her worry? Annette was already prone to skipping meals in favor of working—now that Irina was missing-

“Let’s try flanking him.” 

“Mm,” she grunted, and moved with her mind lost in a haze.

Vera ended up locked in a match of brute strength against Caspar with Irina running up behind him. When Irina jumped to get a kick in, her mind flashed to images of her mother sickly and pale, too panicked to eat. The next thing she knew, Caspar had shoved Vera back and grabbed her incoming leg, throwing her quite a few feet. 

“Irina!” the blonde called out to her friend, crumpled and forlorn on the lawn. “C’mon,” she said and offered Irina a hand up, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Irina suddenly sprang to her feet, eyes burning with desperation. “Uncle Caspar!” She marched over to him with a determination she’d lacked since they’d started sparring. “Have you seen my mother recently?” 

“Uh, yeah” the brawler answered, completely lost. “What’s this about? I thought we were training?”

“How did she look? Was she thinner than usual? Did she have a panic attack? Oh Goddess, she’s probably been having one continuous panic attack since she found out I’d left,” Irina paced back and forth, hands wringing her sleeves. 

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” declared Vera. She scooped Irina up and held her above the ground. “Listen to me,” she began, “You are just as prone to overthinking things as your mom. And, in my honest opinion, you are going to be the death of each other.”

Irina looked away, abashed, but still appeared unmoved. “She’s going to forget to take care of herself, I know it.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing that she has a loving husband to look out for her, isn’t it,” Vera said with a quirked brow. 

“He can’t be with her every hour of the day!” 

“Neither can you! Even if you were back home, it would still hold true.”

“I should have left a note with a reminder to take breaks from work. I should have left her _something_. What kind of daughter am I?” 

“Stop it!” Vera jostled her and fixed her a stern glare. “You are a damn good daughter who makes her family proud on a regular basis.” The princess shook her head and gave Irina an empathetic smile. “I get it, but I think time to yourself is just as important.” Vera finally set her friend back down. “You can’t always be there for one another, and I think this journey might help you come to terms with that.”

“Urgh...” Irina took several deep breaths and her anxiety faded, replaced by a familiar desire to fight. She turned to Caspar again. “I need to hit something.” 

Caspar, who had been waiting patiently, let out a loud guffaw. “ _That_ I can help you with,” he told her. Once again, they assumed their stances and prepared to have at each other. “You’re just like Mattie’s Aunt Bernie,” he chuckled, “Always expecting the worst with everything.”

Instead of words, Irina replied by lunging. 

___

“Are you boys going to tell me how you actually learned about the Agarthans? Or should I simply resign myself to ignorance?” Linhardt drawled.

“Was my lie really that obvious?” Nikolai wondered. 

Kliment gave his prince a wobbly smile. “To be fair, Nikki,” he said, “you’ve never been good at lying.”

Nikolai pulled Kliment aside. “We can’t tell him about Maura, can we?” He was sorely tempted to do so; his conscience told him that Linhardt might appreciate knowing that the Vestra line wasn’t dead.

“I don’t know… She was already… put out when she learned you two had been caught. I don’t want to see her outright angry.” Kliment was not ashamed to admit that Maura terrified him to the core. He just knew that the woman could ensure no one would ever find their bodies if they crossed her.

“I mean, it’s not like she has to know that we said anything. I doubt Linhardt will spread the word. Besides, can _you_ think of anything convincing enough to tell him?” 

Before the redhead could respond, a light snore caught his attention. The duo turned to find Linhardt, still standing but now propped against a bookshelf, fast asleep.

“Uh, Uncle Linhardt?” Kliment tried.

Their host jolted awake. “Ah, I should nap after this,” Linhardt decided. “Back to what we were discussing-”

“Hubert von Vestra’s daughter told us.” Nikolai decided to say it before either Kliment or his own mind talked him out of it. 

There was a nerve wracking pause before Linhardt spoke again. “Huh. I suppose that makes sense.”

“It does?” His nonchalant reaction had startled Kliment. 

The green-haired mage shrugged lazily. “Hubert was a man who made it his mission to know things. Everything that he had uncovered would have fallen into someone's possession after he died, and his next of kin is the most reasonable candidate.”

“A-Anyway,” Nikolai has been expecting far more than just hard logic. “She burned the documents, so they’re gone now.” 

“Well, darn. I guess I’ll have to speak with her in person at some point. What a bother.” 

Kliment leveled a glare at Nikolai that was somehow murderous, horrified, and mocking all at once. “Please, for the love of all things holy, do _not_ do that,” he begged.

“I have to agree. Maura prefers to be left alone-”

“WHY WOULD YOU SAY HER NAME?” Now Kliment looked approximately three seconds away from strangling him.

“I- it slipped out. It’s not like he’s going to go looking for her right this second- Linhardt?” 

Linhardt von Bergliez-Hevring had left them alone. Then, in another room: “HUBERT HAS A DAUGHTER?” 

Kliment’s entire body was trembling, in either fear or rage, as he took Nikolai’s shoulders in a deathgrip. “ _Why_ ,” he breathed shakily. 

“Um… They still haven’t left the house-”

“ ** _DON’T_** ,” he pressed his finger to Nikolai’s mouth. “ _You’ll say it, and then it’ll magically happen_.”

“Klem, you’re kind of scaring me.” 

“ _It’s not ME you should be afraid of_ -”

Just then, the doorbell chimed, and both boys had a sinking suspicion of who was at the door.

Downstairs: “HOLY HELL. WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT YOU.”

Kliment Hywel Gautier was about to explode. Or piss himself. Whichever came first.

___

“Allow me to introduce myself: I am Maura von Vestra. I believe you were acquainted with my father?” Maura wore her typical, saccharine expression, but it looked more painted on than it had this morning. 

“HOLY HELL. WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT YOU.” Truly, Caspar had a gift for shouting.

“You must be Caspar. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Maura shook his hand, which had an extremely intense grip. “I apologize for dropping by without prior notice.” 

“Man, you have _nothing_ to apologize for!” Caspar was grinning from ear to ear as he showed her inside. “Lemme get the hubbies,” he said before cupping his hands to his mouth. “BABES, YOU GOTTA SEE THIS.”

When Maura entered the living area and saw four of her newly acquired allies, she fixed them with a grin that somehow radiated death. Bran instantly ducked behind the sofa. Irina and Vera went stiff and exchanged worried expressions. There was a crashing sound from somewhere upstairs. When Nikolai came down to join them, pale faced and guilt-ridden, he offered no explanation.

Maura plopped down in the middle of the teens. She leaned back and beckoned Nikolai forward. “You simply must tell me what you’ve been up to all day!” 

The prince of Fódlan sunk into his seat. “Nothing particularly important,” he said in a meek voice.

“Your expression tells me you’ve already revealed my name and identity as a Vestra, haven’t you? Were you going to tell them about the inn next?” 

Nikolai desperately wished that he could disappear into the floor as everyone present glared daggers at him. “No,” he replied. 

“You know, the forehead and fingertips are the most sensitive to pain,” Maura beamed at all of them. “But when associates do things I specifically ask them not to, I prefer to sit back and count the ways in which they can repay me. Do you have any ideas?” 

“M-Maybe we could c-carry out a horrible life or d-death mission for you?” squeaked a voice from behind the furniture.

“Bran, I’m finding it rather difficult to take you seriously. Be a dear and come out.” 

Bran was hyperventilating and doing his best not to cry. He didn’t want to die today, and this whole mess was not his fault. Maybe he could play possum? Yeah, that was a solid idea; he just needed to get his breathing under control first.

She pulled out a novel, his reaction boring her. “No, I’m not planning on having any of you killed for this. Believe it or not, I don’t derive any particular satisfaction from causing death.” 

“What about inflicting pain?” snarled Vera.

Maura flipped a page. “What about it? Do you have someone in mind? If so, I’d be happy to oblige.” 

At that, Bran actually whimpered and everybody felt they’d had enough of Maura’s games. Nikolai looked behind them to find their resident archer a sweaty, trembling mess curled up into a ball. He didn’t even have to think; he was at the boy’s side in an instant. “Hey, it’s okay, buddy. You’re fine.” 

“You’re scaring him, damnit!” Mathilda snapped, going to comfort her cowering friend. 

Maura sighed dramatically, set her novel aside, and stood. She removed her apron and threw it to the floor with the weight of several hidden daggers. The girl held her arms out and jerked her head at Irina. “Search me,” she cast a wink in her direction, “I won’t bite.”

Irina groaned. “Why?” 

“For the sake of making poor Bran feel a tad bit safer.” Irina patted her down, not really surprised whenever she came across a weapon of some kind. Everything from knives to slapjacks joined the apron on the floor. “Now, put your sword to my neck.” 

“Again, why?” Irina growled. 

“Wouldn’t you like to have me entirely at your mercy?” Maura impatiently traced her fingers along Irina’s sword hand. 

The Fraldarius jerked back like she’d been burned. “E-Excuse- _what?_ ” 

“I can’t think of any way to soothe Bran short of making myself defenseless. So help out, will you?” 

Irina crinkled her nose in disgust. “Just… Just shut up,” she spat. Despite that, she did put her blade to Maura’s back. “Bran, can you get out here now?” 

With the help of his friends, Bran took a seat on the couch. He remained stiff and hunched, however, helped only by the presence of Nikolai and Mathilda on either side of him.

“Now are you convinced that I didn’t come here to harm you?” 

Then, the three husbands walked back into the room with cookies and tea. They were befuddled to say the least. 

Caspar looked around the room. “Uhhhhhh, what the fuck?” 

“L-Language!” Ashe chided. 

“Oh we were just chatting!” Maura chirped with an unperturbed smile.

Linhardt blinked at the scene. Then, without missing a beat, he sat down with a cup of chamomile. “Moving right along. I have quite a few questions I’d like to ask you.” 

“Ask away,” she said, unfazed by the fact that she could be decapitated in an instant. 

“First of all, how exactly did you obtain your father’s documents?” 

“My family’s connections didn’t die with him. Is that a sufficient answer?” she said tersely.

Linhardt took a sip. “I’d wager it’s the most I’m getting out of you.” 

Ashe and Caspar stared at their partner before eventually sitting beside him. “Cookies, anyone?” Ashe tried, passing the tray to an on-edge Nikolai. 

“Well, I won’t waste time dancing around it: why did you seek the aid of these children?” Linhardt began. Vera contained her irritation at being considered a kid; she was almost eighteen, damn it. 

“My intention was for Nikolai’s distress to spur his father into investigation, and eventually, action. What better way to get into His Majesty’s head than through the words of his son? I didn’t expect them to-,” Maura huffed a snide chuckle. “Imagine running right into the nest of an unknown opponent? Oh the _stupidity._ ” 

Linhardt nodded slightly. “On that we can agree,” he said. Mathilda made a face at him. “But instead of sending them back, you’ve kept them in Aurik Village. Why?”

“They’re only here because I saved them from dying at the hands of the Agarthans. I was planning to use this week to gauge their usefulness. If they proved useless, I’d have contacted soldiers to return them to Garreg Mach.” 

“Their usefulness for what?”

“Some small tasks related to the plots of those dreadful moles. Nothing involving battle of course.” Linhardt raised a doubtful eyebrow, but didn’t press Maura on the subject.

The rest of Linhardt’s questions were answered in much the same way—vague at best—until he got to his final inquiry. “One last thing: why on earth are you here instead of in Brigid?” 

Maura went still and furrowed her brow. “Pardon me?” 

At first, Nikolai was just as thrown off by the question as she was. Then he started to remember Hubert’s words in the journal: “my darling Petra”. And suddenly it all made sense. “That’s right!” he blurted, “Why wouldn’t you want to be with your-”

“I think that’s _enough_.” Dark magic flared from Maura’s hands, the sudden wave of energy pushing everyone back and making Irina drop her sword. She put her apron back on and gathered her assortment of weapons. “I’m here. That’s all that matters.” Before the mysterious woman left, she looked back one final time. “When you’re done playing house,” she called out to the teenagers, “you know where to find me.” And then she was out the door.

After an awkward silence, Linhardt hummed and took another sip of tea. “Touchy, touchy,” he said.

Kliment slowly crept down the stairs, an unwashed pair of underwear clinging to his head. “Is she gone?” 

“Where have you been?!” Irina exclaimed.

Kliment shuddered. “Don’t. Ask.”

___

“This whole thing is fuckin’ weird,” Caspar eloquently concluded.

All three spouses were conversing in the study: Caspar was wearing a groove in the floor with his pacing, Ashe leaned against a bookcase, and Linhardt sat calmly with his arms folded behind his desk.

“We should contact the others,” Linhardt said. “We can’t have those kids trying to do this on their own.” 

“Right, right,” Ashe muttered, still mulling over Bran being a Kirsten. “But, what happens when we do that?”

“They get hauled back to the monastery for the lecture of a lifetime,” Caspar replied. 

“Yeah, but I mean with the… mole people.” 

“That’ll be Dima’s decision,” Linhardt said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

“Is that a good thing?” Coldness seeped into Ashe’s entire countenance. “If he had conducted a proper investigation we wouldn’t be dealing with this right now.” 

“Hon, you don’t seriously think letting our daughter, nieces, and nephews deal with this is a better idea, do you? Mattie said they almost died.” 

“No, I absolutely don’t!” Ashe calmed himself before he continued. “I’m not the only one here who doesn’t think too highly of our king. I don’t know that I trust him to do the job right this time.”

“What else can we do with this info? Nothin’ on our own.” Caspar was resigned, but he didn't appear too pleased with the situation either. 

“Hold a moment…” Linhardt stood, eyeing both his partners. “You know what I would be doing right now if I was one of those kids?” 

Caspar was the first to connect the dots. “SHIT,” he shouted and barreled through the study door. Ashe sighed defeatedly and slumped into an empty chair.

“They have a head start on us,” he said glumly, “We’re not gonna catch up to them today.”

___


	9. Mission Under Arundel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Agarthans make a deadly move.

16th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202

—Arundel Region, Adrestian Territory—

“Time to wake up, dearies!” 

Vera’s head was pounding. Last night had certainly been an eventful affair: Mathilda had eavesdropped on her parents and told them they needed to run. Surprisingly, Maura had been waiting on the outskirts of the estate with an entire merchant caravan at the ready to smuggle them out of town. 

It was unbelievable how many people owed Maura favors. True she had said that this was the basis of her business, but Vera didn’t know if she would ever grasp the scale of her operation; for Goddess’ sake, the girl didn’t look much older than her and she was already a shadow master. 

Bran groaned. “My fucking back…” He pushed a snoring Mathilda’s head off his shoulder. She jolted awake, and her involuntary kick woke Irina across from her.

Nikolai attempted to stand, but his head hit the top of the carriage they had piled into. “Ugh… Someone should check on Klem and Fenya.” 

“I would if my joints still worked,” grumbled Mathilda, rolling to her other side and throwing a cloak over herself. “Lemme sleep,” she pouted.

“I’ll go. Goddess knows I never want to be this close to any of you ever again.” Irina shoved her way to the back of the carriage and unhitched the door. “Does anyone want food? No? Good.” She all but slammed the thing closed.

“I didn’t realize none of you were morning people.” Maura was sitting on the floor, sifting through papers in the limited space. “Hmm. We should be fine,” Her gaze flickered across her newfound companions. “so long as no one decides to have another family reunion.” 

Mathilda ignored her and shifted so she was lying down. “Yeah yeah. Won’t happen again.” 

“Where are we going?” Vera questioned, stretching her arms. “You said there wasn’t time to explain yesterday.” 

“Arundel lands,” Maura replied, “I did say that I’d have a job for you, remember?”

Bran gulped. “W-What kinda job?” 

“I’ll tell you when we get to the safehouse,” Maura tucked her papers away and left the carriage, leaving four confused and concerned teenagers behind. 

“Anyone else sick of this vague, cloak and dagger stuff?” Vera asked.

“Well _certain people_ have proved incapable of keeping secrets.” Mathilda murmured, not bothering to look at the boy she was mocking. Nikolai hid his face behind his knees, sputtering unintelligible apologies. “By the way, you might wanna keep a good distance from Klem for the next few days. He is _still_ seething.” 

Bran breathed a light sigh. “You ask me, he's got the right idea,” he said with a shiver. “The less contact I have with that woman the better.”

Mathilda turned onto her side with a yawn. “Yeah, on top of the knives, slapjacks, and garrote wires, she _also_ has magic?” she scoffed. “Just plain unfair.” 

Nikolai eyed his friend in disbelief. “That’s certainly one way of looking at it,” he eventually said. “But, it's almost like she’d wanted to hide it… Weird.” 

“Never mind that,” Vera cut in, “Who the hell sets up a safehouse all the way out here?” She scratched her head in thought. “You don’t think she has _others_ all over Fódlan, do you?”

Maura popped back in, making Bran jump. “It’s rather rude to talk behind someone’s back, especially if that person has saved you twice now.” She grinned at Vera. “And yes, yes I do. We’re almost there, so I hope you’ve gotten your bearings.” 

___ 

Maura’s safe house was anything but. For one thing, the place was less house and more barn. Also, it hardly looked safe; a strong wind could easily knock over the dilapidated structure. Honestly, it was surprising that the thing was even standing.

Fenya, however, was simply happy to spread her wings again. As soon as she was out of her enclosure, the wyvern began dashing through the nearby fields like her life depended on it. Thankfully, Kliment had instructed her to stay at ground level so she wouldn’t be spotted. 

As soon as the seven got inside, Mathilda threw herself down on an ancient pile of hay. “You know there’s probably all kinds of bugs in there, right?” Nikolai warned her. But she merely threw a bundle at him. “Very mature, Mattie.” He’d be picking straw out of his hair for days. 

“Mathilda, Bran, and Nikolai,” Maura called, heading for the second floor. “I need to see you immediately. Everyone else can get settled in.”

Mathilda cried like she’d lost a limb, and slowly shuffled to her feet. Nikolai climbed up into the loft after her, and Bran came up last - terrified that he’d done something wrong.

When the four of them had gathered together, Maura passed a map to the prince. “I have your first assignment: when night falls, you’ll need to make your way to the late Lord Arundel’s manor and break into the basement. It’s abandoned, but don’t think that means no one’s monitoring it.” 

“Is there something we’re looking for?” Nikolai asked, scanning the indicated area on the map. 

“Nothing in particular,” Maura replied, “but I’m sure you’ll find something of… interest down there.” Her pleasant expression strained as she went on. “Lord Arundel was responsible for the former Emperor's abduction and torture as a child. Not to mention all the experiments he conducted with his Agarthan friends, no doubt trying to create more demonic beasts.” For a split second, pure spite flashed across Maura’s face and she said something under her breath. “...To think you were foolish enough to work with him…” And then she returned to her default false cheer. “Anywho, you should rest up until nightfall.” 

Bran came close to trembling again and clutched Mathilda’s overcoat for support. “You, uhm, won’t be coming along?” 

“No, I have loose ends to tie up,” her smile became a slight smirk. “I’ll be with one of my contacts.”

“Why us?” Mathilda asked.

“Because despite your recent escapade, you two actually know how to be _quiet_.” Maura chuckled and turned to Nikolai. “And you have the Crest of Flames. It’ll probably come in handy if some demonic beasts rear their ugly heads.”

The raven haired teen nudged the blonde. “Crest of Flames?” 

Nikolai held up his palm and willed the crest’s mark to manifest. “Sometimes I can tell when an attack’s about to happen and stop it before anyone gets hurt,” He lowered his hand. “It also heals me on occasion.” 

“That sure is something.” As they climbed back down, Bran glanced at the others. “I heard about crests from my folks, but nothing specific.” When they got to the ground, he shook his head lackadaisically. “Personally, I don’t care that I don’t have one. I can get by just fine.”

Kliment overheard him and grit his teeth. “I mean, in a sensible world, _no one_ would care. It isn’t an indicator of anything…” 

“Well, you sound pissed,” Bran observed.

“His family isn’t too fond of them,” Nikolai explained, “and that’s putting it lightly.” He frowned and rubbed his neck. “Although he does have a point.”

“Eh, just means that folks like us have to pull our own weight,” Mathilda said and play-punched Bran’s arm. The black-haired boy did his best to hide his grimace at the slight pain. 

Maura leapt down to the ground floor, a satchel hanging over her arm. “I’ll be back by morning. Try not to die while I’m gone.” She briefly turned back. “I have people securing the area, so no one will be able to invade the perimeter. Or leave it. Speaking of—Mathilda, don’t _you_ have somewhere to be?” Then she was gone. 

Mathilda hadn’t seen the sky starting to darken. She groaned and trudged outside, dragging Nikolai and Bran behind her. 

___

Iosif hadn’t lied about throttling his brother the instant they saw each other again: trying to throw everyone off without arousing suspicion was proving complicated to say the least. His rumor mongering had proved successful. Multiple soldiers had been dispatched to Fódlan’s Fangs and Daphnel, but he and Emilia were under greater scrutiny than ever. Everyone and their grandmother was gossiping about them; potential wedding dates, matchmaking theories, talk of sullied virtue—nothing was sacred. It had turned their lives into a living hell. 

He was walking to his reason class when he noticed a fretful Annette being escorted to the Cardinal’s Room by Felix: he _had_ to follow. 

“Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it? _Hasn’t_ it?” she muttered frantically. Her husband was about to respond when she cut him off. “Irina’s probably… fallen off a cliff. Or been mauled by a bear. Or she forgot to eat! You know she always forgets-” 

“Honey, you’re hyperventilating.” Felix rubbed her back. “Irina isn’t alone, remember? She has friends looking out for her.” 

“Then they’ve _all_ fallen off a cliff! Or been-”

When it became obvious that neither of them had any new information, he tuned Annette out; the last thing he needed was to start panicking about his friends. They arrived at the Cardinal’s Room, and Iosif slipped into the common area right beside it. The wall dividing the rooms wasn’t thick enough to block out sound and he’d look less suspicious lounging on a sofa instead of hiding in the hall. Iosif _prayed_ that Annette would be loud.

“WHAT DO YOU _MEAN_ YOU ‘LOST THEM’?” The Goddess truly did exist, and she was on Iosif’s side today. 

Caspar was the next one to speak. “Uh, Annie? Please, try to keep it down?” Now wasn’t _that_ ironic. “They couldn’t have gotten far, I mean they only-”

“HOW WAS IRINA? WAS SHE SICKLY WHEN YOU SAW HER?” 

“Fuckdamnit, woman! _Please_! Erm, no offense, Felix…”

“None taken,” was the nonchalant reply.

“Honestly, she looked fine,” Caspar continued. “Really, the only thing bothering her was _you_! She kept going on and on about you worrying yourself to death.”

Felix roared with laughter and stifled giggles echoed throughout the room. “It’s. Not. Funny!” Annette’s pout was audible. 

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Felix said, voice full of uncharacteristic mirth—it was pretty creepy. “But seriously, they’re probably still in Adrestian Territory. Realistically, they could make it to Varley or maybe Aegir lands. It’d be prudent to send search parties there.”

On one hand, that made Iosif’s story more believable. On the other, what in creation were they doing so far away from their intended destination? “Where are you going, little bro?” he wondered. 

“There you are, Iosif!” Said redhead leaped ten feet in the air. When he saw his father standing by the couch, his first instinct was to make a break for it, but the only exit was swiftly blocked by a frowning Ingrid. 

Sylvain wore a shiteating grin as he clapped a hand down on Iosif’s shoulder. “A little bird told me that you’ve finally become a man!” Iosif knew exactly what he was referring to and the young Gautier felt sick. “Congratulations! I always knew charm ran in the family.” 

“Father, no. Just- no,” Iosif backed away from both his parents, desperate for some way out. “I beg you to never bring that up again. For the sake of my sanity.” 

Ingrid raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “ _Your_ sanity?” she said, voice drenched in sarcasm, “What about _mine_?”

Deny, deny, deny. He’d deny everything until he had a better idea. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mother.” 

“Then... what were you begging me not to bring up?” Sylvain prodded, undeterred in his mischief.

“Nothing,” Iosif wanted to facepalm, he was floundering so badly. “Truthfully, I was exaggerating. It’s not that bad.” He needed to breathe. Then, maybe, he could think of a way to spin this. 

“Nonononono,” his father wagged a finger. “That moment of… _passion_ cannot be exaggerated, boy.” He pulled Iosif closer, his grip vice-like. “Your mother and I witnessed it with our very own eyes.”

A sudden, horrendous realization dawned on Iosif. “You’re the one who started the gossip about us being together, aren’t you?” He wanted to laugh, cry, and scream at the same time. 

Ingrid took the place of a still smirking Sylvain, now absolutely furious. “I cannot believe you would lie to us about where your brother is!” She took her son by the ear. “You’re going to tell us everything, understand?!” 

Aside from an occasional grunt of pain, Iosif remained steadfastly quiet as he was hauled in front of the other parents. Even if they knew he was lying, that didn’t mean they could get him to fess up. Or find new, more creative ways to punish him.

___

Although the three teens approached the decrepit mansion with trepidation, they had yet to encounter any enemies. It was almost too easy; they kept to the shadows, ascended the hill, kicked the door in, and made themselves at home. None of them had forgotten Maura’s warning, but it was difficult to feel intimidated by their disheveled surroundings. 

“Have you found the basement yet?” Mathilda asked, having just finished ransacking the kitchens.

“Nothing over here,” Nikolai called from one of the studies. “I’ll try the garden next. Maybe there’s a cellar door.” 

“I got zilch,” Bran’s irritated voice came from the master bedroom. He stormed down the grand staircase with a dwindling candle. “How in _fuck_ does Maura know that this place has a basement?”

“How does she know any of the things she does?” 

On his way to the garden, Nikolai gasped and changed course for the parlor. “Maybe it’s the old bookshelf trick!” He was entertainingly excited as he started throwing books around. 

The other two followed him and gave the shelves a once-over. “I dunno,” said Bran, “that’s the oldest trick there is.” He glanced at Mathilda, who had started shifting her feet along the floor. 

“AH-HA!” Nikolai pulled a tome back triumphantly and waited for something to happen. But nothing did. Bran stifled a chuckle at the prince’s adorable pout. 

“It’ll be the next one for sure,” Bran teased.

Meanwhile, Mathilda made her way to the back of the parlor and held her arms out at her sides. She began putting one foot directly in front of the other. “It’s slanted.” Mathilda murmured, not noticing the curious glances of her friends. She stopped directly in front of the fireplace. “Here.” 

“Here… what?” asked Nikolai.

She ran her fingers along the fireplace. “The basement is under this room. Haven’t you noticed that the floor’s tilting in this direction?” Eventually, her hand found a faint indentation, and she pressed down. Instantly, bricks slid aside and a dark stairwell made itself known. “Found it!”

“Oh,” Nikolai moped, disappointed that his theory was incorrect. Mathilda stuck her tongue out at him; he didn’t hesitate to return the expression. 

With an empathetic sigh, Bran patted Nikolai on the shoulder. “You tried your best, Your Highness.”

Thankfully, there were torches along the passegway’s walls. They each took one and lit it before descending into the inky blackness. They had been walking for what felt like an hour when, without warning, a shiver shot up Nikolai’s spine as the Crest of Flames flared to life. “Hit the ground!” 

“What grou-?” Bran was cut off as Mathilda pulled him down by his collar. A blast of fire was intercepted by Aura, and the entire stairway turned blindingly bright. Nikolai dashed ahead of them, sword at the ready while he raced to meet their attacker. 

“Where's he going?!” Bran hissed as she hauled him to his feet.

“No clue, but we should follow.” They sprinted after Nikolai and found the boy just in time to see him locked in combat with two mages. 

Mathilda charged one of them, spinning past a Fireball and hooking her Breaker gauntlet under their jaw, cracking the bone. The enemy fell backward soundlessly into the darkness just as Nikolai managed to run his blade through the chest of the remaining one.

Bran sheepishly lowered Nightingale, having not gotten a chance to use it. “Huh. That was fast.” 

Nikolai touched his cheek where a burn was forming and flinched. His companions noticed, and quickly surrounded him. “I’m fine,” he waved off their concern. 

“Like hell you are,” Bran retorted, “Wanna put something on that?”

“I’m serious,” Nikolai closed his eyes and a faint glow surrounded him: the burn faded away. “My crest can take care of minor injuries.” 

“Ain’t you a lucky one.”

“Shh!” Mathilda held a finger to her lips; faint voices and the sounds of machinery could be heard echoing down below. As they crept further down the steps, a light came into focus at the end of the passageway. “Douse them,” Mathilda gestured at their torches.

“There...” Bran used a pouch of water to put out his torch before passing it to Nikolai who swiftly followed suit. They pressed themselves against the wall and crouched: the voices were growing louder and they were very much exposed. Bran spotted another doorway—he had no clue where it led, but there had to be better than here. “Let’s go,” he whispered, pointing. 

Outside was a stone balcony overlooking a cavernous lab occupied by Agarthans flitting about like bees maintaining their hive. Giant beakers set over burners were being filled via complex pulley systems, rows of tables were littered with miscellaneous potions, and a row of colossal bookcases were pushed to the back wall––ladders leaned against it for access to the topmost shelves.

“Guys,” Nikolai motioned a shaking hand to a containment chamber: the contents were mostly obscured, but he could swear he saw two gleaming red orbs. To make matters worse, small cracks were beginning to form. “That looks… pretty bad.” 

“What gave it away,” Mathilda drawled. “So, uh, what do we do _now_?” She looked between the two boys, hopeful for a suggestion.

“I think we got what we came for,” Bran backed up. “I say we leave.” 

“No,” Nikolai shook his head firmly, “we need concrete information. There has to be _something_ down there that we can bring back to Maura.”

“In that case,” Mathilda climbed the railing. “Let’s go shake hands with whatever’s about to crawl out of the depths of Ailell.” 

Nikolai and Bran immediately panicked, frantically waving their arms, but Mathilda had already landed without a sound. She jerked her head at a table on the far end of the lab—it was overflowing with notes and most of the people who had been surrounding it were now frenziedly tending to the shattering chamber. 

Bran turned to Nikolai incredulously. “What in the holy mother of shit is she thinking?” he whisper-yelled.

Nikolai breathed a giggle. “Don’t look at me,” he inched along the stone railing, “she’s _your_ platonic girlfriend.”

“Laugh it up, pretty boy,” Bran groaned, “at least I _have_ a platonic soon-to-be ex girlfriend… or something.” Nikolai threw an amused look over his shoulder, and Bran retaliated with an ‘up yours’ signal.

When they finally caught up to Mathilda, she was looking over every surface in their environment. “Took you long enough,” she grumbled. “I’m gonna distract ‘em. Stick to the wall and only move if you have an opening.” She rolled under a table to the left and pushed a beaker over the edge. 

Two alchemists jumped and searched for the source of the crash. Mathilda motioned, and the three of them moved past the approaching Agarthans. They relied on similar distraction maneuvers while making their way to the furthest workstation. 

Just as they reached their destination, the containment chamber burst; glass and liquid went flying, cutting and drenching many of the researchers around it. A single black claw emerged from the depths, throbbing with a crimson glow. The limb’s veins pulsated, and it doubled in size. An unnatural, piercing screech deafened anyone nearby. 

“Guys… what’s that?” Bran asked, his voice cracking in fear. 

A massive, dark creature pulled free from its confinements: the thing was an eyeless salamander with pallid flesh instead of scales. It sported rows of fangs as it opened its maw and released a ball of dark magic on the Agarthans. In their haste to get away from the abomination, one overturned the table Nikolai and Bran were crouched beneath.

Bran didn’t even think, he leapt forward like a cat and tackled the warlock to the ground. He whipped an arrow out of his quiver and jammed it into the man’s neck before he could call for help.

“Uh, thanks,” Nikolai said, still in shock, and helped Bran to his feet. 

“MOVE, YOU IDIOTS!” They both turned to see Mathilda rushing toward them at a breakneck pace. She grabbed them by the scruff of their necks and they ran for cover.

The beast was thrashing recklessly as it moved forward, trampling anyone and anything in its path; clearly it didn’t care much for its creators. Most of the Agarthans had scurried to the back of the laboratory and were climbing a ladder that led to an escape hatch. 

“We just need to get there!” Mathilda pointed at the ladder leading up. “We’re gonna make it!”

The beast’s tail came out of nowhere, crashing into the ladder and shattering it into splinters.

“Are we now?!” shouted Nikolai hysterically. 

Mathilda swore and shoved her gauntlets on. “Guess we’ll have to kill the damn thing.” 

“Oh no, that is a _terrible_ \- And there she goes.” Nikolai watched dumbstruck as his friend charged the enraged monster. “Today might actually be the day that her brashness gets her killed,” he deadpanned.

“If today’s the day,” Bran swung Nightingale over his shoulder, “then let’s get it over with.”

When the salamander swung its behemoth tail again, Mathilda grabbed onto it, digging Breaker and Biter into its flesh as she climbed the writhing body to search it for a weak point. 

As Mathilda fought tooth and nail for survival, Bran found himself wishing his target had eyes so he could shoot them. The beast’s hide was surprisingly thick and Bran’s arrows had been poking at it to no effect. Nikolai was faring a bit better; he fired Seraphims and sliced at the monster’s legs with his sword, making it dance about in pain.

There was an echoing crack, and the boys looked at the monster’s head to see Mathilda battering it’s skull. “Aim here, B!” She yelled, pushing Biter down on a particularly soft spot: Biter pushed past flesh and bone and the demon shrieked. 

In the span of a second, Bran nocked and loosed an arrow into the exposed point. Unfortunately, that only put the creature into a more frenzied rage. With a wail like nails on a chalkboard, it barreled toward him like a mad bull. Bran just barely jumped out of the way, landing on broken glassware and unforgiving stone in the process.

Mathilda lost her grip and flew off, but Nikolai Rescued her before she could collide with anything. She warped into place at his side and, without a second thought, sprinted back into the fray.

“Don’t just _run off_!” Nikolai yelled, “We need to coordina-” Suddenly, his crest’s power thrummed through his blood. He sensed the incoming attack and was ready to dodge, confident he’d make it. 

And then Bran launched himself at Nikolai, pushing him to the side. With the prince out of the way, the incoming creature backhanded the boy across the room. He crashed into a table and did not get up.

“You _fucking_ -” Mathilda bit back a mounting scream. “Okay you Goddess-forsaken sonuvabitch,” the girl dipped under a wide swing of the beast’s claws, but her overcoat paid the price—it was ripped to shreds. She hissed and flipped over another blast of magic. “DIE-” she slid into the space underneath its hulking body. “TWICE!” Mathilda threw every ounce of her weight into a double-fisted jab at the creature’s underbelly. It flailed backward, fully exposing the sensitive area. 

“SERAPHIM!” Nikolai called upon the spell with more force than ever before, willing it’s light to burn through the despicable entity in front of him. His will was thoroughly carried out, and the beast finally fell. 

Mathilda spat at its unmoving form. “And _stay_ dead.” She turned her back on it, and began moving toward her downed companion. 

In one last desperate act, the fallen demon opened its jaws to ensnare Mathilda. Before Nikolai could scream a warning, four flaming arrows soared over her head and into the monster’s gullet. As it wailed in agony, Nikolai and Mathilda’s heads snapped to where the attack had come from. On his side, face and chest bleeding, was Bran. He lowered his bow and moaned tiredly, head lolling to the side.

“Think I broke my everything,” he wheezed a chuckle.

Nikolai gently took hold of Bran’s arms, and closed his eyes in concentration, a quiet prayer in his mind. Restore’s healing energy enveloped the other boy; it didn’t take care of everything, but he was far better off than he’d been before. “Why,” his voice trembled, “did you do that?” 

“Had to,” Bran slurred sleepily before nodding off in his healer’s arms. 

Nikolai sighed, shouldering Bran’s weight. “Thank you,” he whispered. Mathilda took his other side and they walked to a pile of notes that had scattered across the floor in the chaos. 

She hefted Bran onto her back. “I can hold him. You see if there’s anything valuable.” Nikolai nodded and reluctantly left their side. 

He couldn’t make heads or tails of these papers now––too many of them were irreparably damaged. Nikolai was about to give up when he noticed a conical flask on an undamaged lab station. He examined it against the lamplight; the lime green liquid seemed harmless enough, but something gave him a bad feeling. He poured a bit onto a glass slide and placed it beneath a nearby microscope. He saw what looked like germs, but they were replicating at an unnatural, disturbing rate.

“Whatcha got, Nikki?” 

“I’m not sure, but it definitely isn’t good.” 

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, Infirmary—

Iosif might’ve been refusing to speak, but by now it was obvious that he and Emilia had been helping their friends. Emilia had decided to inform Mercedes of everything before she was told by a third party—she wanted her mother to hear the story from her. 

“Circumstances aside, this whole situation _is_ quite funny,” Mercedes giggled as she finished restraining a thrashing, foaming patient. “I likely would have done the same for the other lions when I was your age.” She administered a sedative, and the man drifted off. 

“So… you’re not mad?” Emilia asked hesitantly. She passed a needle to her mother.

“I suspect you’re in enough trouble as is,” Mercedes took a small sample of blood, and jotted a few notes onto a chart. “Besides, they would have gone regardless.” 

At the other end of the ward, a woman––her veins bulging and eyes milky white––screamed bloody murder as she returned to the waking world.

“Now, now, Adeline,” Mercedes slowly approached the unnerved woman, who hissed at her like an irate cat. “You remember where you are, don’t you?” She moved to her patient’s side, and gracefully took her hands when she attempted a swing. “It’s me, Mercie,” Her tone was soft and possessed a soothing effect. “You don’t have to worry anymore: your son is safe, as is your husband.” 

“Er, Mother, I don’t think you’re getting through to her,” Emilia said. She didn’t rush to Mercedes' defense; she was much stronger than she looked. 

“Adeline,” The bishop caressed the woman’s cheek. “Do you remember why you’re here? You set your house on fire, but then you pulled your family to safety,” She frowned. “and went back inside.” Adeline snarled and snapped at her like a rabid dog.

“Mom,” Emilia rolled up her sleeves and tapped her foot impatiently, “please, let’s tie her down and cast the protection ward.”

Mercedes took a series of leather straps from the bedside table and bound Adeline’s arms and legs to the bed. “Your son misses you,” she continued talking even as her daughter joined her. “Your husband wishes he had been strong enough to protect you.” She held Emilia’s hands and their magic pulsed. “I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to get you back to them.” 

A barrier formed around them before they separated. Then, mother and daughter began moving their hands in practiced motions as they worked to dispel the darkness within Adeline. “Dear Goddess, we ask you to bestow upon us your power to purify even the darkest night.” Mercedes chanted; the prayer provided some small comfort. 

“It’s an infectious illness, yet magic-based as well,” Emilia murmured, perplexed. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Once,” Mercedes’ face turned troubled. “when I was attending the Academy, but it was different then. This is...”

There was a tense silence as they tried different spells one after another. Still, Adeline jerked violently against her bindings, occasionally breaking into fits of laughter. “Do you think,” Emilia began slowly, “this has something to do with why Nikolai and Vera left?”

“It’s possible,” Mercedes sent more magical energy into Adeline, hoping for a positive response. “The only way to find out would be to contact them.” 

The infirmary doors thundered open, and several more writhing patients flooded in. A healer near the ward’s entrance put their head in their hands: they were already overwhelmed. 

“Oh my, we might be working with multiple strains,” Mercedes concluded. “It would help if we could figure out the number of variations.” 

“When have we ever been _that_ lucky?” Emilia sighed. In the corner of her eye, she saw a deranged man tackle one of the healers to the ground and winced. “I should probably get over there.” 

___


	10. Picking Up The Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort followed by a plan of action.

16th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Arundel Region, Adrestian Territory—

“So, how’d it go?” Maura asked, staring the three of them down with steepled fingers.

“Just fine!” Nikolai hastened to reply, “Went off without a hitch.” Thank the Goddess for Bran’s ability to hide injuries. Still, without Mathilda’s hand on his shoulder, the kid would probably keel over. “We also brought you something interesting,” he continued, rifling through his bag.

“First, I’d like to thank the three of you for your assistance. Truly, you have my gratitude.” she said, accepting the items Nikolai handed her: a pair of crimson orbs and a vial of fluid. Maura examined them closely and, for the first time since they’d met her, the woman’s smile entirely disappeared: it was chilling. “You’ve earned some rest. And Bran? Get those wounds looked at before you turn in.” She gathered the objects, and climbed into the barn loft. “Try not to need me for the rest of the day.” 

Bran looked from Mathilda to Nikolai and back again. “How the- _How_ _'d_ she know?” he sputtered incredulously.

“I haven’t let go of you since we got back,” Mathilda answered. “It isn’t that hard of a guess.” 

The archer whinged in frustration. “I told you not to make it look _obvious_ ,” he grumbled. He tried to cross his arms before wincing and gripping his pants. 

Nikolai took his arm. “Alright, time for me to look you over.” Before Bran could protest, Nikolai led him to the back of the safehouse where he kept his medical supplies. 

___

Bran was acting like a child; he resisted all of Nikolai’s attempts to get his shirt off, squirming and batting his hands away. Nikolai tried not to get frustrated, but he couldn’t keep the sternness out of his voice. “Bran. You were thrown across a room. You passed out. If you don’t want permanent damage, you need to let me help you.” 

“I’ll be fine, damnit! I’ll just… keep moving forward. This won’t stop me.”

Fed up with his resistance, Nikolai shot to his feet, scattering some bandages in the process. “You will DIE if you keep this bullshit up.” 

Bran rolled his eyes languidly. “Worse things could happen, Nik,” he said dismissively.

The prince went stone cold, and his normally compassionate expression turned devoid of all emotion. When he spoke he was deathly quiet, as though trying not to scream. “Do you know how many people I’ve seen die in the monastery’s infirmary, desperately clinging to their last thread of life?” He loomed over the archer with an air of spite. “They would have given _anything_ for just a few more days. You’re lucky enough to be breathing, and you have the _audacity_ to dismiss that as though it's _meaningless?_ ” 

Officially scared, Bran leaned back and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, okay! Whatever you want!” His hands trembled as he unlaced his tunic. Taking hold of the garment, he offered Nikolai a rueful look. “Just don’t blame me for any nightmares you might get.” With a grounding breath, Bran lifted his shirt over his head.

Nikolai was immediately shocked by two things: the mass of bruises and cuts that spanned Bran’s torso, and how skeletal he was without any layers to hide behind. “… Have you been starving yourself?” 

Bran heaved a sigh that said he’d hoped to avoid this conversation. “No, life’s just hard back home,” he responded mechanically. “I’ve learned to make every meal count and work through hunger.”

“I know the Alliance Territories are struggling, but,” Nikolai shook his head agitatedly, “your parents weren’t... _this_ far gone.” 

“Always make sure the twins eat first. And then Nora, ‘cause she’s the future of the business.” Bran shrugged. “Ma and Dad usually make their own stuff.”

His words made Nikolai remember his lack of appetite back at the inn. “You haven’t been eating since you started traveling with us either.” 

“I get by,” Bran asserted defensively. “I don’t need as much to function as the rest of you.”

“T-To function? No one is supposed to be this thin. You’re on the verge of _starving to death_.” 

The raven-haired boy groaned exasperatedly. “I keep telling you, dying is the least of my worries. Now can we _please_ get this over with?” He was clearly uncomfortable and wanted to move on, but his friend was having none of it.

Nikolai had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing: this was too much. “I… I don’t know that it’s worth helping you if you don’t care about being alive.” 

“Look, you think I _asked_ to be born this way?” Bran snapped, his tone resentful. “Think I enjoy forcing myself to get up every morning n' remind myself that there are reasons for me to be here? _No_! But there ain’t no cure for this shit.”

That didn’t make sense; there was a cure for every illness—it simply needed to be found. “No cure for _what_?!” 

Bran’s eyes were tired of staying open. “Whatever the fuck is wrong with my head.”

Nikolai’s mind raced with information about every disease he had ever studied and every form of medicine to ever be discovered: there was always a fix, always a way to make things right. He could solve this—he had to be able to cure whatever was wrong with Bran; what kind of healer would he be if he couldn’t? Then, a realization struck him like a blast of Thoron—Nikolai had never learned anything about sickness that wasn’t physical. For him it had always been ‘See a wound? Here’s how you patch it up’. No one had sat him down and detailed the intricacies of unseen illness, and now that it was right in front of him, he was useless. 

“How… How do I help?” 

A long, terrible silence passed before Bran could bring himself to look at Nikolai. Even though he wore the softest of smiles, hot tears ran from his golden eyes and pooled in the dark circles below. “I dunno that you _can_ , Your Princliness,” he said, melancholic. “But, times like these… Could, uh, could you remind me that I’m still useful, or something?” Bran turned away, ashamed of burdening Nikolai with his own problems. “I-If that’s okay.”

Unthinking, Nikolai pulled him into an unyielding hug. “We need you. I need you. Please don’t go away.” He poured all the sincerity in the world into his words. 

With a violent shudder, Bran sobbed uncontrollably into his chest. “‘m sorry,” he eventually mumbled, as if this was something he could control.

“Just… try.” Solace was the only remedy Nikolai could prescribe. 

___

Mathilda solemnly examined what little remained of her coat - it was the only thing that she had left from her birth family, and now she could never wear it again. She was still coming to grips with the reality of the situation when Nikolai approached. Mathilda stuffed the scraps of her overcoat behind her and waved him over with a forced smile. 

“Hey! How’s B holding up?” 

Nikolai dropped down next to her, leaning into her side. “I’ve taken care of his _physical_ wounds. Now he just needs to sleep.” 

“Good,” Mathilda nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. She stroked his hair and rested her chin on his head. “I swear, that boy is a hazard to himself.”

He grimaced at the wording, but didn’t comment. “What about you? You need me to patch anything up?” Nikolai sat up, giving her a stern look. “And don’t say that you’re perfectly fine––that monster nearly squashed you _several_ times!” 

“I’m a little sore,” she grunted and rolled her achy shoulder, “but I haven’t noticed anything bad. You can look me over if you want.” While shifting into a position for him to examine her, the coat’s remains fell to the floor. 

Nikolai immediately recognized the material; she’d worn it since they were kids. “Oh no,” he sighed, “I’m so sorry, Mattie-”

“It’s no big deal.” Mathilda snatched it and hurled it across the room. “See? Nothing to worry about.” 

A bit stunned by her response, Nikolai looked at her like a parent would at their emotional toddler. “That’s a pretty extreme reaction to something that’s ‘no big deal’.”

Mathilda shuffled awkwardly, blinking wetness out of her eyes. “I… It was my mother’s,” she choked out. “But I’ll be fine, really. We’re alive. That’s what actually matters.” 

He frowned and retrieved the thrown item. “In the grand scheme of things, yes.” The blonde sat down again, offering her the coat. “But this is important to you, and you’re in pain because of it. There’s no need to feign indifference.” He offered it to her with an understanding expression.

Slowly, she accepted it from him, stifling a snivel. “I guess it just kinda stings.” Mathilda wiped her tears. “Thanks, Nikki.”

For the second time that night, Nikolai wrapped one of his friends in a warm embrace. “Is there anything I can do?” he whispered.

“I guess…” She buried her face in his chest. “Hold onto me for a little while.” 

“Of course.” He felt partially responsible for what happened, and started making plans to set things right. A thud interrupted their moment: the two looked up to see a bear’s corpse on the floor. 

“Food’s here!” Vera announced. 

Irina and Kliment came in after her with their own downed animals. Kliment had a deer draped over his shoulders and Irina carried a bundle of several dead rabbits. 

“That’s…” Nikolai looked between the hunters, “a lot.”

“Yeah, so you’d best eat up!” Vera chuckled heartily.

Kliment didn’t bother sticking around; he went right to Fenya with a rabbit carcass as an offering. As he pet her adoringly, he noticed something off. “Have you guys seen Fenya’s bridle?” he called out. “You better not have done something with it!”

Irina looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. “What could we possibly want with a wyvern harness?” she asked rhetorically.

“Don’t fret: you’ll have it back soon enough!” Maura winked at him, which was more than enough to shut him up. 

___

17th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Garreg Mach Monastery, the Common Room—

The interrogations had been awfully one-sided; Ingrid and Sylvain bombarded their son with questions, and Iosif remained silent as the grave. It would be impressive if it wasn't so damn frustrating.

“Iosif,” Ingrid grasped her son’s shoulders, now too tired to sound upset. “Can you _please_ help us find them before they put themselves in greater danger?” 

Not a single syllable left the young man’s mouth. Although he was staring straight ahead, Iosif refused to meet his mother’s gaze. Sylvain scratched his scalp roughly.

“At this point, Ingrid, we should just call it a day,” he blew out a weary breath and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “You remember the last time he got like this? He kept it up for a _week_.”

Ingrid almost laughed at the memory: his silence had been a desperate attempt to keep his brother out of trouble for accidentally setting a flock of Pegasi loose. Only after she and Sylvain repeatedly assured him that there wouldn’t be any kind of punishment did he tell them the truth. If not for the current circumstances, she’d find his dedication to Kliment adorable. The couple left to confer with the other parents: a few looked hopeful, most were resigned. 

With one last look behind them, the Gautiers rejoined their fellow parents in the Cardinal’s Room. Linhardt––as per usual––was asleep against Ashe’s side, Caspar pounded his fist into his palm restlessly, and Annette paced the room while Felix watched her idly. 

“Anything yet?” Felix sounded like he already knew the answer.

“Nope,” Sylvain shook his head dejectedly, “nothing.”

“Ugh. How come your kid’s so stubborn?” Caspar groused. 

Ingrid plopped down into a chair, buried her head in her hands, and let out a tortured groan. Sylvain combed his fingers through her hair soothingly. “Honestly,” Ingrid said, her voice muffled, “he probably gets it from me. Why did Iosif have to inherit _that_ quality instead of-”

“Being a manwhore?” Felix chimed in dryly.

That had everyone laughing, including Sylvain. “Actually, it might not be too late for him on that front,” he wiggled his brows. “I told you we caught him and Emilia in the garden, didn’t I?” 

“Speaking of which,” Ingrid took her husband’s arm. “Did you _really_ start a rumor about them?” Sylvain’s mischievous smirk was all the answer she needed. “No wonder he isn’t talking to us.” 

Linhardt applauded slowly, having been awoken by all the noise. “Congratulations. You burned the bridge with your own kid.” 

“Ehh. He’ll forgive me _eventually_.” 

“Has there been any word from Fhirdiad?” Annette piped up, “Dimitri must have heard something by now. Surely they can’t avoid all the guards in the Kingdom forever. Someone has to have seen something at some point-”

“The Prof- Byleth is doing her fair share of searching too,” Ashe said reassuringly, “We’ll hear something, Annie. We just need to be patient.” Annette grumbled something about that ‘being easy for _him_ because he got to see _his_ child’.

Abruptly, a knight of Seiros burst into the room looking unnerved. “Excuse me, Margrave Gautier?” 

“Yep, that’s me,” Sylvain perked up. “Do you have news?” 

“Iosif and Emilia are… gone.” 

___

Tension left Iosif’s shoulders the moment his parents took their leave: keeping his mouth shut was far from easy for him, but it was the only option he had left. That changed when a knight of Seiros entered the common room and led him toward a window.

“My lady has need of you,” she explained, which clarified nothing. “I’ve been instructed to take you to her.” 

Iosif stares blankly at the woman. He’d had far too many encounters with strangers attempting to lead him away to fall for it. “Right. I’ll just go ahead and-” He grabbed one of the knight’s arms, Thunder crackling at his fingertips and an unamused glare in his eyes. “Who put you up to this?” 

“The same person who’s been assisting your brother.” The woman offered him a sly smile of her own. “I don’t expect you to trust me, but I do expect you to recognize this.” She held up a bridle that Iosif instantly recognized as Fenya’s. 

“How did you-?”

“You’ll never know unless you come with me,” she motioned to a nearby window. “So, what’ll it be?”

The redhead took a moment to consider all of his options; then he ripped a sheet of paper from a nearby notebook and scribbled something onto it. He slapped the sheet onto a table near the common room’s entrance. “Alright, let’s go.” 

“Excellent!” she grinned before retrieving her mace and smashing the stained glass window; a black pegasus was perched patiently on the roof outside. “After you, my lord,” the flier snickered and bowed.

“You know,” Iosif carefully made his way across the rooftop. “I _really_ look forward to meeting your boss.” 

___

Emilia stared blankly at the valkyrie in front of her. “No,” she said, about to return to the infirmary. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” the woman ran to block her. “Don’t you want to see your friends again?” 

“Not particularly. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Truthfully, Emilia wasn’t too pleased with Nikolai and Vera. Because of them, everyone thought she and Iosif were courting; placing blame on the royal siblings might have been a stretch, but she had been in a vindictive mood as of late.

“Look, they could really use your help.” In sheer desperation, she dropped to her knees and clasped Emilia’s hands. “Please. For their sake,” she shivered, “and mine. I was ordered to retrieve you: if I fail…” The valkyrie fully prostrated herself. “I beg you to come with me. How can I persuade you?” 

“Um, it’s… _that_ big of a deal?” Emilia questioned, suddenly very uncomfortable. “I suppose I’ll need evidence of your honesty.” 

With a glimmer of hope in her eyes, the valkyrie handed over a scrap of red cloth; Emilia immediately knew it was from Mathilda’s overcoat. “Is she-”

“Only one way to find out,” the rider cut her off, “and death threats won’t provide you with a reliable answer.”

Emilia was tempted to yank her hair out. “I regret everything,” she muttered. “Fine. Take me to them.” 

___

Sylvain laughed so hard he began crying. ‘Screw you, old man’, was perhaps the best running away letter ever written.

“WHAT THE FUCKING- NO, OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAPPEN!” Ingrid sputtered. She rounded on her husband. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING ABOUT?!”

“It’s just- It’s so _funny_ -” Sylvain was doubled over and wheezing. “I can’t- I can’t breathe!”

“GOOD. JUST _DIE_ AT THIS POINT!”

“Honey, at least they’ll be together.” 

“THIS IS ALL _YOUR FAULT_. YOUR STUPID MALE GENES MESSED EVERYTHING UP.” 

At that, Sylvain collapsed to the floor, rolling around. “PFFFFFT. Goddess- take me now! Life is all downhill from here!” 

Meanwhile, Linhardt, Caspar, and Ashe watched the domestic dispute from the doorway.

“Should, um, should we _do_ something?” Ashe asked anxiously.

“Let’s just leave them be.” Linhardt was already walking away.

___

“We’ve arrived,” the pegasus touched down at the edge of a large, grassy property with a rundown barn in the distance. “Your friends are inside. Oh and once you’re in, you won’t really be able to leave.” 

Iosif cast her a suspicious glare. “And why’s that?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“You’ll find out once you meet my mistress. I bid you farewell.” Then she was sky bound again. 

A few feet away, a horse stopped and Emilia dismounted. “I see I wasn’t the only one coerced into going along with this,” she tossed her rucksack over her shoulder. “Shall we reunite with our _friends_?” 

“Iosif!” a voice called from the distant building. The pair turned to see an overjoyed Kliment running toward them with open arms. 

“Klem!” Iosif sprinted to his brother, arms outstretched. “You have no idea,” his smile turned threatening, “how long I’ve been waiting to do _this!_ ” He changed trajectory, and close-lined his brother. As soon as Kliment crashed to the ground, clutching his sore nose, Iosif was on top of him with his fingers wrapped around his throat. “Every single day since you’ve been gone I’ve had the same dream over and over again—do you want to know what it was?” 

“Naughugh!”

“I dreamed of choking the life out of my idiotic baby brother for turning my life into a complete and total _hellscape_.” Kliment tried to push Iosif off of him, but his grip was vice-like.

“Do you know,” Iosif grabbed Kliment’s collar and yanked him to his feet, “what I’ve been through because of you?” 

“Wha- Wha-?” Kliment tried to speak through his harsh coughing.

Iosif dropped him, his expression disturbingly blank. “You owe me for the rest of our miserable lives—get it? I don’t want to hear a single complaint about _anything_ I _ever_ ask you to do from now on. _Understand?_ ” 

Utterly beside himself with fear, Kliment looked to Emilia for support, but she just gave him an unimpressed stare, her face as stoney as her father’s. “What happened?” he demanded.

“We do not **_speak_** of it,” Emilia hissed, stalking past him. 

“Try not to lose this again.” Iosif tossed Fenya’s harness onto Kliment’s chest and trudged inside. 

“Emmy!” Mathilda and Nikolai ran to greet their friend, who pulled her axe on both of them with a menacing scowl. 

“Don’t you _dare_ ‘Emmy’ me.” 

Meanwhile, off to the side, Irina and Bran observed the sequence of events. “Should we… _try_ breaking them up?” Bran asked.

“Let’s just leave them be,” Irina shrugged and walked away. After a second of consideration, Bran followed her back to the barn. 

Vera shook her head at the scene, appearing vaguely amused. It was nice to have the gang back together—even if things would be even more hectic from now on. 

___

Emilia finished patching up Kliment’s nose and roughly shoved him aside to set up the rest of her medical supplies. She jerked her thumb at Bran. “Who the fuck is he?” 

Bran looked around before he realized she was referring to him. “Oh, um, I’m Bran Kirsten,” he introduced clumsily.

“Why are you here? Did these imbeciles kidnap you?” 

“Uh, no… I volunteered.”

“Then un-fucking-volunteer,” Emilia barked, “because they’ll get you killed.”

“Maybe we should put the swear words down,” Kliment tried. They all knew Emilia only cursed when she was thoroughly done with every aspect of humanity, and when she was done, life wasn’t fun for anyone around her. 

Bran snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh shut the hell up. You got sensitive ears or something?”

Mathilda huffed a chuckle. “Shit, man,” she said, “you should see this boy on the training grounds: it’s all ‘frick’ this and ‘darn’ that.” She shook her head in mock disappointment. “Seriously, throw a ‘fuck’ in there, for _fuck’s_ sake.”

Kliment stiffened at their language. “I don’t care if you curse, but it’s _weird_ hearing it from Emmy- er, Emilia. And personally, I’ve never seen the point in swearing—it makes no difference.” 

“Wait wait wait, let’s not get off topic here!” Iosif cut in and rounded on Bran. “ _You’re_ a Kirsten? As in Rapheal and Leonie Kisten?” He looked the innkeeper’s son up and down skeptically. “Yeah, no—I don’t see it.” Iosif got into Bran’s personal space and eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you _really_?”

“Don’t be rude! You haven’t even introduced yourself yet.” Kliment dragged Iosif backwards. “Not all children look exactly like their parents.”

Iosif donned a playful smirk, and presented Bran with an over dramatic bow. “Iosif Glenndale Gautier—although you could always call me ‘crestless upstart’, ‘indignant usurper’, or, my personal favorite, ‘the eternal thorn in House Gautier’s side’.” 

“Okay…?” Bran dragged the word out, not sure what to make of Iosif.

Emilia didn’t bother facing him when she spoke her name. “Emilia von Martritz,” she inspected a syringe of sedatives she’d snuck out of the ward: something told her it would come in handy. “I’ll heal you unless you get hurt on account of your own stupidity.” She missed the concerned look Nikolai shot Bran, who promptly looked away. “On that note, there was a strange outbreak in the town near the monastery.” 

“Is that so?” a voice came from above. Not a moment later, Maura dropped down among them. The bespectacled girl started pacing the width of the barn, holding her chin in thought. “Then the situation is more grave than I anticipated,” she said with a rare note of seriousness.

Iosif sized her up. “You run the show around here, right?” He held his hand out with a mischievous smile. “I must say it’s an honor to meet someone with your level of finesse—too many people take the blunt approach nowadays.” Really, he looked far too happy to see her. “I suspect we’ll get along quite well.” 

Maura returned his handshake, a terrifying speck of genuine joy in her eyes. “You’re the one who got Anton under control. Tell me, is he proving useful?” 

“Oh, _very_ ,” Iosif replied amicably. “The dolt never stood a chance. A child could outwit him.”

“Perhaps, but not every child would have the audacity to wrap a noble around their finger,” she motioned to the space she’d dropped down from. “We should continue this discussion. I’ll have my contacts get in touch with yours.” 

“Splendid!” Iosif practically chirped. 

“The world is doomed,” Kliment muttered in terrified awe. The others watched wordlessly as Maura and Iosif linked arms and went on their merry way. 

“How much gold you wanna bet that they get married?” Mathilda interjected. 

“BACK ON GODDESS DAMNED TOPIC,” Nikolai erupted in alarm, “What do you mean by a ‘strange outbreak’ and ‘the situation being grave’?!”

Emilia took a seat on a hay bale and detailed the horrid affair. “Townsfolk started trying to kill themselves and anyone around them. Then they all dropped like flies; some had splintered bones, some were bleeding out internally—symptoms varied from person to person. There was only one constant: they were all infected with a strain of dark magic.” 

Vera nodded along with Emilia’s explanation, her expression grim. “That sounds awfully similar to the Remire Calamity,” she began. “No one was ever able to identify the cause.” 

“The Agarthans are the cause,” Maura leapt back down from the loft; Iosif took the ladder. “What your parents witnessed in Remire was only a test, as was this,” she removed her glasses, tone urgent. “And I have a sinking suspicion they’re going to need another round of test subjects sometime soon.” She gestured toward Iosif and Emilia. “This is why I sent my people to fetch you two—I need all hands on deck.”

“There’s been a twenty-two year gap between Remire and this,” Irina noted. “Why are you so certain they’re going to test this disease again so soon?” 

“Ever since your attack on Shambhala, the Agarthans have sped up their plans—my associates have noticed their agents moving much more frantically than before. You made them realize they can’t hide in the shadows forever. They’ve put themselves on a time limit, so now we’re on one too.” 

Nikolai grasped his sword. “Then we need to get to work,” he said, voice full of determination, “I for one am not waiting for them to make the first move.” He turned to Maura, “How should we begin?”

Maura had to admire his tenaciousness. “Our current objective is identifying the site of their next test. If we intercept them we can gain insight into their larger plot.” 

“I’ll do you one better,” Iosif cut in, “We pool our resources, find where they’re making this stuff, and shut it down.”

“Excellent idea. With even more people feeding us information, the odds of tracking them down will be in our favor,” Maura walked to the center of their group, eyeing everyone present. “There’ll be two teams: one to intercept their next experiment, and one to infiltrate their base,” she beamed at Iosif. “We’ll notify you when it’s time to move out.” 

Irina cleared her throat with far more force than needed. “And why are we doing this _by ourselves_ ?” she asked. “Would it not be more prudent and, dare I say, advantageous to get _the military_ on our side?”

“Three reasons, darling. First of all, the Kingdom army is far too cumbersome and would only slow us down. Secondly, I have no idea who in those ranks the Agarthans haven’t influenced. Lastly, your soldiers have never exactly been subtle.” As Maura laid things out the most condescending voice imaginable, Irina could do little more than clench her fists. Damn the woman for always being right. 

___

“I want you to know that living with your mother at the monastery has been absolutely harrowing,” Emilia said right off the bat when she was alone with Irina. 

“I guessed as much,” Irina continued polishing her blade to distract from thoughts of how concerned Annette was. “I’d have gone back if there wasn’t so much shit to deal with.” 

Emilia knelt and forced herself into Irina’s line of sight. “ _Caspar von Bergliez-Hevring_ asked her to be quiet.” She paused a moment for that to sink in. “That is where we are at right now as a species.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Irina ran a hand through her tangled mop of hair. “I’m sorry we left you to handle our mess: it was unfair. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve spent the majority of this trip wanting to jump into a ravine.” 

The Duscur girl huffed. “If you’re helping Vera and Nikolai with anything, you must be prepared to deal with the immediate regret and desire for a swift end.”

“I only went with them to be a voice of reason who could keep everyone alive. So far, that hasn’t been working out too well,” Irina put her sword away and looked at where Maura was eagerly conversing with Iosif. “Pretty sure _she’s_ the only reason we haven’t died yet.” 

“A good thing too,” Emilia noted with a wry smirk, “Because Iosif has wanted to be the one to kill his brother.”

“How was it having him around without the rest of us? Did he make your ears bleed with his poor excuse for humor?” 

“It’s just as I told Kliment: we do not speak of it.” 

Irina shrugged. “If you say so. Personally, I’ve been contemplating whether or not to knock everyone out for a few hours of peace: starting with Their Royal Pains in My Ass.” 

“Hah!” Emilia lightly nudged her friend. “Don’t tempt me. It’s nothing short of a miracle that I was convinced to come.” 

“Why _did_ you come?” Irina asked, serious.

“The valkyrie who brought me here showed me a torn piece of Mathilda’s coat. I imagine it’s obvious why that would be worrying.” 

Irina winced. “Poor girl’s coat got torn to shreds,” she glanced sadly at the tatters by the barn entrance. “It’s beyond repair.” 

“Oh.” Was the only thing Emilia could think to respond with. “That almost makes me want to forgive her for the shiteating grin she’s had since I arrived.” 

“She’s definitely going to make up for all the time she hasn’t been able to spend annoying you.” 

“Joy.”

___


	11. Preparing A Counterattack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to an upcoming conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter one, but for good reason.

18th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Adrestian Territory, Arundel Region—

Maura and Iosif were gone for most of the next day, returning late into the afternoon. As soon as they got back, it was time for a strategy meeting. “We’ve managed to locate the most likely site of the next experiment: a settlement on the outskirts of Fhirdiad.” That hit home for Vera, Nikolai, and Irina. 

“We’re still trying to pinpoint the base for their disease, but more info should be coming in soon.” Iosif’s usual mirth was nowhere to be found: that, coupled with the imminent danger the Agarthans posed, was more than enough to unsettle everyone except Maura. “In the meantime, we decided who’ll be working together for this.” 

“Emilia, Kliment, Bran, and Iosif will be the main force. Irina, Vera, Mathilda, and Nikolai will remain on standby and head to the base once it’s been located. Any questions?” Maura dearly hoped no one would ask anything _too_ stupid. 

Irina spoke up. “Yeah, how are we _actually_ planning on doing this?” She crossed her arms and gave them a judgmental look. “Why are we attacking them separately when we could do it while they’re still at their hideout?”

Iosif was the one who answered. “The batch for the next trial has already left production: dividing and conquering is our only option,” his expression soured and he started wringing his hands. “Unless, of course, no one here is bothered by the idea of that illness claiming countless more victims.” 

Vera rolled her eyes. “Of course we are,” she grumbled, “But what is our battle plan?” She had learned her lesson from Shambhala; they were not going in blind or playing it by ear again.

Emilia gasped. “Vera! Does this mean that you think charging into an enemy stronghold without a plan is a… _bad_ idea?” She approached the princess and touched her forehead. “You don’t have a fever, do you, Your Highness?” Annoyed, Vera swatted her hand away. “And Nikolai!” Emilia sprinted to the prince’s aid. “Hearing your sister speak in such a blasphemous way must be tormenting you—oh poor boy, cover your ears before she corrupts you with her _common sense_.” 

Mathilda hid her face in Bran’s hair, trying and failing to disguise her audible amusement. Bran made a point of staring at the floor, his shoulders shaking. Nikolai himself huffed and pouted, refusing to look at either of them.

“I suppose my point is,” Emilia glanced between the royal siblings,“the future of this kingdom doesn’t appear very bright.” 

Kliment approached Nikolai with what appeared to be sincere concern. “You need a vulnerary for that burn?” It was the opposite of sincere. He expected Iosif to chime in at any second, but his brother stayed quiet. 

Ignoring their banter, Iosif pinned a map to the wall. “Our alchemist friends are hoping to pass through Galatea from the east in a few days,” he began. “They’ll be traveling in a caravan: lots of wagons moving very slowly around lava and through rocky terrain. If we make good time, we can bottleneck them before they’re out of Ailell.”

“So, it’s a hit and run?” Bran asked. “We strike hard ‘n fast and get out?”

“No.” Iosif hadn’t even realized he was objecting until it left his mouth. Something about that—the idea of just leaving them be after _everything_ —was driving him up the wall. “We should surround them on all sides. Then there’ll be no getting out,” _At least not in one piece._

“Precisely,” Maura agreed. “We should take two or three prisoners if possible. Maybe a commander and one or two grunts.” 

“Easier said than done,” Vera snorted. “Would they even be willing to give anything up?” 

Iosif’s small grin was downright unsettling; for a split second he looked like a cat about to pounce on its prey. “We’ll just have to see,” he purred. Kliment gave his brother an odd glance.

“In any case, Geneva will be joining us tomorrow,” Maura smiled fondly. “She’s going to arrive early. For your own sake, let’s not keep her waiting.” 

___

Mathilda had taken it upon herself to liven things up; what better way to do that than by taking the piss out of one of her friends? 

“Hey, Emmy?” No response. “Emmyyyyyy? Emiliaaaaaa?”

“Do you have something important to discuss, or is this just for the sake of giving me a migraine?” 

“Eh, a little of both,” Mathilda giggled. She squatted in front of Emilia who was busy sharpening her axe; perhaps it wasn’t the best moment to test her patience, but Mathilda preferred to live dangerously. “Anyway, why don’t you sing anymore?” she mock-frowned, “You have such a beautiful voice too.”

Emilia dropped the weapon and dusted herself off. “Should I run through the monastery’s halls belting at the top of my lungs?” She stepped around Mathilda. “I only- ugh. How is this relevant to _anything_ that’s happening right now?” 

“It doesn’t have to be relevant to be important,” Mathilda sassed. “Besides, as much as I love listening to you, I meant singing in general. I know I sound like a dying cat, but it still does the soul some good.”

“Then by all means, Mattie, sing to your heart’s content,” Emilia covered her ears. “Go ahead. I won’t judge you.” 

“That reaction _literally_ says, ‘I’m judging you, and you sound terrible’. Which I’m aware of.” Mathilda pulled Emilia’s hands away. “Seriously, I’m talking about _your_ _own_ wellbeing. You need to express yourself every once and awhile. Our enjoyment is just a little bonus.”

“I express myself well enough as is,” Emilia insisted. 

Mathilda doubled over and clutched her sides. “Emmy,” she said once she’d regained her breath, “you are _this_ close to becoming as frosty as your dad.”

“And who’s fault do you think that is?” Emilia snapped. She calmed herself in the next instant; she hated to admit it, but one of her greatest fears was turning into her father. “Look, if I… dear Seiros… If I sing for you right now, will you stop bothering me?” 

With a quirked brow, Mathilda leaned back against the wall. “You can say it’s for me if that makes you feel better.” The twin-tailed girl grinned mischievously. “But if you’re _sure_ ,” he cupped her hands to her mouth, “GET OVER HERE, GUYS! EMMY’S GONNA SING!”

“Hey, I didn’t say-”

Like moths to a flame, everyone in the barn surrounded her; even Bran and Maura, who had no reason to expect anything out of this, joined the swarm. With a resigned sigh, she began the first verse. It was a melancholic song with so many swells and haunting notes that she found herself getting caught up in the melody; maybe Mathilda was right—perhaps this had been exactly what Emilia needed. 

The second she hit the last note, Emilia retreated to the back of the room and started sharpening her weapon once more: she wasn’t interested in any praises and brushed off Mathilda’s attempt at a bearhug. Her moment was over and that was that. 

___

Emilia’s impromptu performance left everyone in higher spirits: Kliment felt energized enough to have an intense flying session with Fenya. Bran went out for some fresh air only to catch Kliment jumping off the saddle to get a wide sweep in with his lance. He spun and landed without hassle, but Bran still paled. 

“Now if only I could get more air…” Kliment murmured, standing upright on the wyvern’s back. 

Simultaneously on the ground, Bran was turning green at the gills. “The man is insane,” he muttered, “Completely, totally bonkers.”

Kliment spotted Bran and ordered Fenya to land. Once she was on the ground, he back flipped off. “Hey, Bran! I didn’t see you there.” 

“ ...What, was that little flip for style points?” the archer snarked.

“I have to be able to dismount quickly,” Kliment replied, as upbeat as ever.

“Seems a bit much if you ask me.”

The rider caught sight of Nightingale, and the bow gave him an idea. “Did you see me practicing just now?” 

“Kinda hard to miss.”

“You know how you can get an arrow to arc if you aim it a certain way? That’s what I’ve been trying to do!”

Bran scratched his head. “You wanna use a bow?”

“No, I want to arc _myself_.” 

The raven haired boy gawked at him. “ _Why_?” he dragged the word out.

“It’s part of a new move I’m working on,” Kliment explained enthusiastically. “You know I have to jump off Fenya sometimes. This might help me better control the way my body acts mid air.”

Still very much astounded, Bran took his time digesting all that had been said. “Okay, ah, an arrow is _a lot different_ than a human being.”

“Just watch me a bit, and see if you can offer any advice.” He was already running back to Fenya. 

Kliment spoke a command and the wyvern soared. Then she dipped downward and he leapt up again, not quite getting as much air as he wanted, but still landing back in his saddle. “How was that?” 

Bran raised his head from the bushes, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “ _Just_ … _fine_ ,” he drawled, standing on unsteady legs.

“Geez, I’m sorry,” Kliment ran to him in concern. “I didn’t realize stuff like this made you sick.”

“Just… lotta bad memories…” Leonie had been so sure that her son would love flying on her pegasus. One soiled pair of trousers later, they both concluded that it wasn’t for him.

“Really though, it’s a good thing you’ve never seen my mother fly,” Kliment’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “Once, she jumped off her pegasus, ran on top of a building and-”

“ _I get it_ ,” Bran cut him off. Just imagining that stunt got him lightheaded. 

“But, and I really do hate to break it to you,” the redhead smiled nervously, “we might have to carry you one of these days.”

As soon as those words were uttered, Bran broke into a cold sweat. “I’ll walk, swim, climb - _anything_ as long as I don’t have to fly anywhere,” he rushed to declare.

“I’m being serious. One of the strategies Iosif mentioned was getting you on Fenya to give you an aerial sniping point.” 

That did it; the image of spiralling back down to earth, at the mercy of gravity and the Goddess, was too much for him to handle. Bran buried his head in his hands and wept loudly.

“Don’t worry, you’d have me with you,” Kliment assured, rubbing the other boy’s back. “and you can get in plenty of training before then!” 

His crying intensified. 

Fenya huffed from further away and got in Bran’s face to see what the fuss was about. He momentarily ceased his bawling, leaned into Fenya’s wing, and sobbed even harder. 

“Oh boy…” 

___

19th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

Many comedies had the old ‘waking someone with a bucket of water’ routine - it had been done to death. Never did Nikolai imagine that he’d experience such a rude awakening firsthand.

“Wakey, wakey, darlings!” Maura singsonged. She and Geneva tossed their pails away and sauntered over to their horses—saddled and ready for travel. “Get a move on!” she called out, “We have two days to reach Galatea, and time waits for no one.”

Iosif and Kliment were the only other people who weren’t drenched: the former because he had heeded Maura’s warning and the latter due to being a morning person. They smirked at their sopping wet friends and mounted Fenya. “You heard the lady: time won’t wait!” Iosif teased. 

Irina looked like a soaked, pissed off cat. “ _I hate that woman_ ,” she hissed, “ _So. Much._ ”

Emilia dried her hair off. “Which one?” she passed Irina a spare blanket. 

Geneva was on her horse staring straight ahead; if not for the fact that she’d splashed them, it would be debatable whether she had taken note of the teenagers at all. After wringing out his ponytail, Nikolai decided to try making conversation. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get here so quickly?” he inquired.

“...” Instead of answering, she patted her steed’s head and shrugged her shoulders. Then she made a slashing motion across her throat. 

“Um, okay?”

Witnessing their interaction added to Vera’s frustration. How were they supposed to work with her if she refused to speak with them? “What, does she have you sworn to silence?” the princess complained.

Geneva pointed at her throat again and shook her head before forming an ‘x’ with her hands. She brooded over their confusion and rapidly signaled something at Maura. 

“Vera, honey, she’s mute.” 

“O-Oh.” Vera flushed, properly abashed, and went to her steed without another word. Meanwhile, the others didn’t try to stifle their chuckles.   
  


“Eyes on me,” Maura got their attention. “Geneva may not be able to vocalize her thoughts, but believe me she has _plenty_ of them.” Said girl flung a bundle of cloth at her, but she ducked under the throw. “On the road and in combat, she’ll communicate using signs. For now, this means move,” she waved her hands in a dismissive manner. “This is stop,” Maura brought her right hand down on the palm of her left. “And this is quiet.” She made a shushing motion. “Got all that?” 

Mathilda clumsily copied the gestures. “I think so.” 

“Good. Off we go!” 

About a mile out, Emilia approached Geneva, staring curiously at her neck. “So, did something render you mute or were you born this way?” 

Everybody behind Emilia looked absolutely flabbergasted at her bluntness. Nikolai briefly considered reprimanding her, but relented because he was just as curious. 

“...” Geneva thought for a moment, pointed at Irina’s sword, and slowly dragged a finger across her neck. 

“That… seems like it should have killed you. How did the surgery go?” 

The brunette shook her head and proceeded to make a series of signs, none of which Emilia had any hope of understanding. Blank-faced, she turned to Maura, “Care to translate?”

“No,” Maura replied. “What did you expect to get out of that?”

Mathilda cackled and nearly fell off of her horse. No matter how severe her stink eye was, Emilia couldn’t get her friend to compose herself. 

___

Several hours later, Bran’s horse fell into step beside Vera’s. “You know, uh, ya kinda remind me of my sister,” he began, nervous now that her attention was on him. “I-In a good way, I promise! You’re a force to be reckoned with, and through all of this you’re always there for Nik.”

Vera sighed. “Maybe that’s what it _looks_ like, but most of the time I feel like we can’t actually connect,” she tightened her grip on the reins. After a bit, her face brightened. “At least he knows I love him. That’s what really matters. How do you get along with _your_ sister?” 

“Aha, well Nora's a very… _physical_ person,” Bran explained, amused, “I’m maybe ninety pounds wet? She uses that to her advantage all the time—traps me in headlocks, noogies, bearhugs, all that stuff.” He chuckled fondly, “That girl is more animal than person, lemme tell you.” 

“Really?” Vera’s eyes turned vacant. She’d done those things to Nikolai as a child: not so much now. It was undeniable that change was part of the disconnect between them, but it simply couldn’t be helped. “So _that’s_ why I remind you of her…” She grumbled. It was a bit frustrating to have something so inconvenient be such a defining trait for her. 

The innkeeper’s son continued, oblivious, “Well that’s part of it. Mostly, it’s because you take such good care of Nik. If anyone ever threatened me or the twins… Not even the _Goddess_ could save 'em from her.” He shrugged and turned thoughtful. “Nora helps me take care of everybody: she hunts, fishes, you name it. She’s got a big heart.”

“Nora sounds wonderful, not to mention lucky.” 

“Huh?”

“She has you as a sibling, after all,” Vera beamed at the now blushing boy. “I’m not the only person who’s helped protect everyone. It truly was a blessing that you decided to join us.” 

“I-I don’t know about all that,” Bran stuttered. “I’m just trying not to be dead weight.”

“You _more than_ pull your own weight. I’m grateful to have you as an ally, and a friend.” 

Bran looked ready to combust. Iosif, who had traded his place on Fenya to Mathilda, rode up to join the discussion. “As long as we’re talking about siblings, can we agree that while they’re precious and all, little brothers are also ridiculously annoying?” He made sure his gripe was loud enough for Kliment to hear. His younger brother made a point of ignoring him. 

“Oh definitely,” Vera nodded sagely. “Some days, I just want to bash my head against a wall. Do you know how many nights I’ve had to drag him out of the infirmary so he’d get some sleep?” 

Up ahead, Nikolai stammered. “That’s- I- It’s for a good reason!” 

“Pft, please,” Bran scoffed, “You ever have to stop your fourteen year old siblings from beating the living crap out of each other every few minutes? Not as easy as it sounds!”

“That’s nothing,” Iosif claimed. “Talk to me after you’ve spent an entire week with a second shadow. It’s endearing at first; then you realize you have absolutely no privacy.” 

Abruptly, Fenya descended to ground level. “Can you blame me?!” Kliment yelled. “And it’s not like you’re any easier to live with.” 

The crown princess guffawed at their interaction. “I remember a time when Nikki refused to sleep alone in his own bed—something about the bogeyman,” there was a mischievous glint in her eye. “So every night, I’d have to stay in bed with him, his legs and elbows flailing and nailing me in the ribs. _He_ got some shuteye, but I got none!”

A red-faced Nikolai pulled his horse around to confront her. “You don’t see me divulging your deep, dark secrets! What happened to honor among siblings?!” He faced Bran. “And _you_ . Forget you _ever_ heard that.” 

Said boy had to hide his snickering face in his hood; the prince was so damn cute when he got worked up.

“Hey, Nikki,” Kliment started. “I say we get them back for this,” he turned to Iosif with a smirk. “Mother fed him with the ‘here comes the pegasus’ game until he was _four_!”

“You know, that probably would have embarrassed me before the…” Iosif shuddered, “Incident That Shall Not Be Talked About. But now, I can safely say that nothing will ever come close to that level of mortification.” 

“Are you guys ever going to tell us what happened?” Vera asked. “Because I’m pretty sure it can’t be worse than being pegasus fed until four.” 

“ **_NEVER_ **,” both Iosif and Emilia, the latter much further ahead, declared simultaneously.

“Lovely as this conversation sounds,” Maura interrupted, “we’ve reached a good spot to make camp for the night. Who wants to water the horses? One two three _NOT IT_.” 

Iosif, Vera, and Bran reacted quickly enough to also yell ‘not it’ as soon as Maura did. Nikolai, Kliment, and Irina caught on next, which left Emilia out to dry; however, she wasn’t at all bothered. 

“I’ll gladly spend my evening away from you children,” she shrugged lackadaisically. 

Camp was made, and everyone quickly noticed Geneva mixing miscellaneous substances. Those watching her were left feeling a mix of intrigue and concern. There was always the option of asking her what she was doing, but it was unlikely they’d actually understand her. Irina went over to Maura, who was letting her hair down. 

“What is she doing?” Irina demanded. 

Maura glanced in Geneva’s direction. “Oh, making explosives,” she said like she was describing the weather.

“...Why.” 

“Because they’ll play an important role in our job, sweetie,” Maura explained condescendingly and patted Irina’s cheek.

Irina slapped her hand away. “Are you always this irritating?!” 

Maura batted her lashes. “I have no idea what you could possibly mean,” Then, she started moving a comb through the tangles in her green locks. “Perhaps you just enjoy finding conflict where there isn’t any.” 

“I enjoy nothing about this situation, _least of all you_ ,” Irina snapped.

“If that’s true,” Maura paused her combing, “why do you keep finding reasons to speak with me?” 

Irina had no verbal rebuttal for that one; all she could do was snarl and stomp off.

Geneva waved Maura over, pointing between two different vials and signing that she’d need more for the entirety of what they had planned. 

“Hmm. Is there enough for a medium ranged blast?” 

Geneva deliberated a moment, eyed her supplies, and did some quick calculations before she gave a thumbs up.

“Perfect!” To the surprise of everyone else, Maura kissed her associate directly on the lips; it was brief, but no less shocking. Irina actually dropped her bag at the sight; she collected herself as quickly as possible. 

The brunette smiled for the first time since they’d met her, and pecked Maura’s cheek. Then, as if life couldn’t make any less sense, they crawled into the same bedroll. 

Kliment tripped over his own feet while Iosif applauded, whooped, and hollered. 

“Huh.” Bran shrugged before returning to his business.

“Uhhhhhhh...” Vera’s mind had gone blank. 

Nikolai, his eyes as wide as saucers, had an internal crisis: was _everyone_ openly gay except _him_?

“Was the pda really necessary?” Emilia moped. 

Mathilda nudged her. “ _Almost_ as frosty as your dad.” Her comment earned her a swift kick to the shin. 

___


	12. Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s never that easy.

20th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Galatea Lands, Kingdom Territory—

Golden twilight was upon the travelers as they approached the roadside stable. The only roofed structure, aside from the stablehands’ lodgings, was meant for horses; the sandy area was enclosed with a rope fence with a sign near the entrance listing fees. They were going to spend the night before their assault on a _public_ camping ground. Vera turned to Nikolai, who appeared just as confused as she, before hollering at Maura ahead of them. 

“What’s this?” she questioned, “I thought we’d be staying in some rundown building?”

“I’m sorry,” Maura’s gaze pierced through her. “Do you _little fuckers_ ,” that choice of words gave pause to each and every one of them, “have a problem? I certainly hope not.” She smirked lethally and went inside to pay. 

“I guess we should set up our tents then,” Kliment said nervously.

Geneva grabbed a large, bulky bag and remounted her horse, taking off in a seemingly random direction. 

Emilia’s eyes tracked the girl’s every movement, even squinting into the distance as she got further away. “Where does she think she’s going?” she murmured, “And what’s in that sack she grabbed?”

Iosif peered over from where he was staking a tent pole into the ground. “She’s scouting. And that bag is probably holding an unholy amount of explosives.” 

Vera frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Maura told me.” His tone was far too nonchalant for the princess’ liking: since when did that woman just hand out information? 

“Anyway,” Kliment cut in, “I spied a river not far to the south. Just in case we need to hydrate or freshen up.”

Vera hardly heard him, still fixated on Maura. If they were truly a team, why did she see fit to inform none of them of her plans? The young assassin’s arrangement with Iosif didn’t sit right with her, and she was going to get to the bottom of it tonight.

Right then, Maura re-emerged. “Our payment has been handled. Unfortunately, I can’t let you nod off just yet: there are many matters to discuss.” She eyed Vera and waved her closer. “Something on your mind, dear?” 

“You could say that,” Vera said, clearly peeved. “For starters, would you mind divulging the specifics of this plan you’ve concocted without us?”

“And why would I bother doing that?” Maura quirked a brow. “There are only two members of your friend circle who haven’t entirely forfeited the right to knowledge.” She motioned to Iosif and Emilia. 

“Forfeit,” Vera echoed, “How do you mean?”

“Do you recall the one thing I specifically asked you not to do when you first arrived at my inn?” Maura got right into Vera’s space without a care. “I said you could do whatever you wanted so long as you didn’t get caught. And guess what happened? You. Got. Caught.” 

Unconsciously tightening her fists, nails biting into her palms, Vera looked down her nose at the girl. “Be that as it may, you are jeopardizing the mission by keeping us in the dark.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what _you_ need to do when _you_ need to do it,” she flicked Vera’s braid. “Outside of those specifics, I suppose you’ll need to have some faith.” 

“ _That_ ,” Vera hissed through clenched teeth, “is earned, not given.”

“As is the right to information that doesn’t directly involve you. Should you prove capable of _not_ disappointing me, I may consider filling you in more often. ‘Till then, trust me; I have yet to steer you wrong.” Maura twirled past the seething blonde, and addressed the rest of their group. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering why all of you are here when only four are intercepting the caravan. Luckily for us, the base where the Agarthans are producing their disease isn’t far from here.” 

Iosif stepped to the front of their assemblage. “I take it you have a scheme?”

Maura grinned wickedly. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

___

After once again looking over a map of the Agarthan’s planned movements, Geneva picked a spot along Ailell’s cliffside for another homemade bomb. Then, she made her way to the predicted point of entry for the oncoming caravan: the perfect place for a batch of Molotov cocktails—Iosif had assured her he could ignite them when the time came. If Maura had faith in him, so did she. 

The timing would be tricky, though. Preliminary scouting confirmed that the main force would be guarding a large wagon carrying the Agarthan virus. Geneva would have to ignite her explosives at just the right moment for the domino effect to cause the surrounding rock to crumble down on that carriage. If she succeeded, then the others could clean up any stragglers. If she failed, things would become considerably more complicated. 

“...” Geneva turned her attention to the cliff, and made a mental outline of the way it jutted out at certain angles. She marked those points on her map: Fenya could duck behind them while still providing a viable sniping point for Bran; it was debatable whether the boy would agree to actually mount the wyvern, but she had to be prepared either way. 

As she ventured further, multiple dark mages entered her line of sight. She ducked into a crevice, thoughts racing: if the transport was arriving earlier than expected, they were screwed. When she tuned into their discussion, her blood ran cold. 

“Are you sure we’re going to be intercepted tomorrow?” an anxious, scratchy voice asked.

“You know better than to question what we’re told,” replied a high-pitched, weaselly sounding man. He and another man began placing traps of their own. She noted where each one was being planted; this could complicate the triggering of her bombs. 

As they finished up and left, Geneva tried not to snarl: the only way for them to know that was if they had someone on the inside, someone nearby. Maybe Rosalind or Otis? No, they had skin in the game; those two wouldn’t rest until the Agarthans were all in the ground. But who else was there? She’d have to conduct an investigation on everyone who’d heard even mere whispers of their plan. 

Right now, she had to get back to Maura as quickly as possible. With an uncharacteristic lack of finesse, Geneva tumbled her way out of Ailell. They had to shut down all their lines of communication as quickly as possible. 

___

Maura could be stubborn as stubborn as she pleased, but Vera refused to leave things to chance this time. She gathered her friends outside her tent and regarded them like a general inspecting her troops.

“Let’s run through each of them once,” Vera said, pacing, “just to make sure we haven’t gotten rusty.”

Irina sighed dramatically. Honestly, there were times when Vera wondered if she didn’t know how to _not_ be difficult. “Nobody’s forgotten the joint attacks, Vera,” Irina said, “We came up with them in our tweens, for Goddess’ sake.”

“Dragon- LUNGE!” Mathilda pumped one of her fists in the air and offered the other to Irina, who stared silently at it. “Aw, c’mon, Rina. Ours has the _best_ name.” 

“I beg to differ,” Nikolai countered and grinned at his sister. “Ours is ten times cooler.” 

“In all honesty, I think Shield Breaker sounds the _least_ ridiculous—and I’m not even part of that one.” Irina admitted, a soft smile gracing her lips. 

“Getting back on track,” Vera continued, satisfied, “I’d like to go over the map of their base one more time.” She retrieved the worn parchment from her bag and laid it before them. “If two of you snuck in via the sewers, then you could open the front gates for the rest of us,” she dragged her finger along the crude drawing.

“I agree, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Nikolai advised. “We need to survive the coming conflict first.” 

“Leave that to us,” Kliment chirped from his spot beside Emilia. “We’re the main force for this one after all.” 

Hoofbeats thundered from down the road: Geneva’s horse flew into the stable, and she dismounted before it even stopped. Though no one was being especially loud, she shushed all of them and briskly went into Maura’s tent. Moments later, the green-haired women came to address them, looking irritated. They were already nervous, and her words were anything but comforting. “We’re compromised.” 

“W-What do you mean, ‘compromised’?” Mathilda inquired, her voice cracking. She subconsciously attempted to play with her overcoat, only to remember that it was destroyed.

Maura tsked. “The moles know of our plan to intercept them which means that someone betrayed us. Betrayed _me_ ,” she frowned—an unnerving image. “I thought that _bitch_ was only connected to- oh.” Her eyes widened. “That’s bad.” 

“What is?” Nikolai urged her to continue.

“Faerghus Territory is in far greater danger than I thought,” Maura tapped her foot, mind going over every potential theory until she arrived at a definite conclusion. “That flier who carried Iosif to the barn: she serves a lord from House Galatea. I always suspected her loyalties lied with him, but to think that _his_ heart is with the Agarthans… I should have acted sooner.” 

Iosif’s face turned grim; his jaw was set and he flexed his fingers ominously. “What do you suggest we do about this treachery?” he asked levelly.

“Capture her, find out how much she told him, and then kill her,” Maura said simply. 

“Easier said than done,” Irina toyed with her dagger. “We’re already committed to this mission, the enemy knows of our plan, and that woman is long gone.”

“No, she isn’t,” The assassin smirked devilishly. “At the moment, I’d wager she’s not too far away at all.” 

“Okay, but how is payback gonna help?” Bran reasoned, “They still know we’re coming.”

“This isn’t going to be petty revenge, my dear Bran,” Maura slipped a knife into her sleeve. “Right now, we still have a slight advantage.” Geneva ran up to Iosif, presenting him with a heavily marked map. “Every trap they’ve set for us is written down there, and they don’t know where our explosives are.” 

“I get it,” Vera nodded, “Just because they know we’re going to attack, doesn't mean that they know _how_ it’ll happen.”

“Exactly, and if her fervent writing is any indication I’d say Gen has a few suggestions on that front.” Maura adjusted her cloak and mounted her own horse. “If I’m not back by sunrise, carry on with the attack as planned.” 

“Where are you going at a time like this?!” Kilment demanded, gesticulating frantically. 

“To meet with my ever so darling contact, and remove the head from her shoulders.” With that promise hanging in the air, she was off, ignoring any and all protest. 

“Well,” Emilia leaned over Geneva’s shoulder. “Let’s get plotting.” 

Iosif’s grin was as sharp as razor blades. “What do you have in mind?” he asked in a low voice.

The mute girl tore several pages from the notebook she was scribbling in and passed them around: she’d jotted down an impressive amount in such a short time. 

When Bran got his page, he stood up with trembling legs. “Nope. Nuh-uh. Not doing it.” 

Kliment looked over the archer’s shoulder and read the orders he’d been given. “Aw jeez,” he murmured. The redhead patted Bran on the back, but he remained as white as a snow-covered sheet.

Geneva stared after him, pure irritation etched onto her face. With her eyes boring holes in the boy’s skull, she wrote a few more lines, and handed Iosif another note. 

“You have to admit, this is probably our best bet,” Iosif told Bran as he scanned the instructions. “With a shot from that distance, we could still catch them off guard. You won’t even have to fly much.” 

“ _Not much_ is still _way_ too much for me,” Bran said tremulously.

“Wait,” Vera interrupted. “You want us to move on their base _right now?_ ” 

“...” Geneva nodded feverishly, holding up her notebook for everyone to see. ‘Correct’. 

“I guess we’re moving out then,” Irina gazed at the other team. “Try to stay alive.” 

“Aye!” Iosif said, saluting. 

“Same to you.” Emilia nodded. 

Mathilda hugged them. “See ya on the other side.” 

Nikolai could feel his heart pounding. Was there any actual chance of this ending well? No, he couldn’t think that way; he had to be ready for the battle ahead. 

___

Sybil’s cries for mercy were sweet nourishment for Maura’s soul. She had savored every last exquisite moment of the pegasus knight’s pain until her head rolled to the ground. In a perfect world, Maura would have dragged out her suffering even longer. “Oh well, you can’t have everything.” 

Beside her, the late rider’s ebony steed brayed: not in dismay at its partner’s death, but in what was more akin to boredom. ‘What now?’ it seemed to say. 

“Hmm. You know, you might make a lovely present for a companion of mine!” Maura pet the creature’s head and took hold of its reins. “I bet following Sybil’s empty-headed orders was nothing short of torture,” she stroked its mane. “Don’t worry. I plan to pair you with someone much more fun.” 

The pegasus licked her hand, not minding that it was stained with blood. “Your name is Noir, right?” It snorted, turning its head away. “I’m not a fan of that either. How does Eclipse sound?” Now the animal looked mildly offended. “Something else then: Slate?” It’s irritation grew. “I know! Velvet.” 

Velvet nuzzled into her palm, far more satisfied than he had been while Sybil was alive. 

___

Taken at face value, the Agarthan hideaway looked like a regular grassy hill at the edge of a brook; there was nothing to suggest that it was a man-made structure. If Maura hadn’t assured them that their foes were holed up here, the four teens would have passed it by without a second thought.

Vera assessed the environment, taking stock of the entry points she’d seen on the map. “There’s a sewer system right…” she walked around to the back of the hill and found an opening hidden amongst the water weeds. “Here. Rina, can you and Mattie break in and give us an entrance?” 

The purple haired swordswoman made quick work of the plant life, slashing through horsetails and creeping jenny. With the foliage out of the way, the group could make out a stone archway sealed with rusted iron bars. The foul odor emanating from within was powerful enough to knock a buzzard off a bullshit wagon.

“So, who first?” Mathilda asked.

“I’ll pay you good money to lead the shithole charge,” Irina snarked, already lighting a torch.

“Ugh,” Vera braced herself for the stench and ripped two of the bars off. “Sorry to make you do this.” 

“It’s,” Irina pinched her nose, “really, it’s not okay, but we’ll survive.” 

“Will you, though?” Nikolai raised a doubtful brow as his friends waded through the muck.

“If this kills me,” Mathilda glared at the royals with absolute seriousness, “I will spend my afterlife haunting both of you.” 

“Believe me, I wouldn’t fault you for it,” Vera half-smiled apologetically.

An unfathomable reek encompassed the duo as they delved deeper into the depths of sludge. It had become so dark that Irina’s torch did little more than illuminate the water in front of them. The submerged surface beneath the girls' feet was littered with indescribable detritus that they tried not to think about. They eventually came across a gap in the walls with a faint light glimmering in the distance, and the intensely awkward silence between them was finally broken. 

“This is the way in,” Irina said nasally, her nostrils squeezed shut. “We should be able to loop around to the very front.” She snuffed and tossed her torch before sliding along the narrow opening, with Mathilda following close behind. Climbing up through the lavatory was a less than pleasant experience; slime and Sothis knew what else rubbed off on their clothes while they wormed their way to the surface. There was a mirror on the nearby wall, but neither Irina or Mathilda dared look at their reflection—they felt wretched already. 

When they reached the other side, the two were greeted by the sight of a massive factory: enormous liquid vats lined the back walls, and alchemists were testing and chemical mixtures at numerous stations. The sulfur scent that pervaded the hideout was little better than what they had escaped from. Several guards made their rounds across the floor below, but none were stationed on the second level where they were hiding; their oversight made sense—the only way to reach it was to pry open a gate and trudge through sewage. 

Mathilda tested the stability of a low-hanging rafter and hoisted herself onto it. “Keep watch for me.” 

Irina was already tracking the movements of every guard. “On it.” 

With a series of rolls and jumps, Mathilda quietly weaved her way through the rafters. She glanced at Irina every couple of seconds, reassuring her that everything was fine. Finally, she saw the main entryway: at the top of a paved slope were a set of steel doors that brought to mind an exterior cellar entrance. It was well secured, but not for long. 

A dented pipe hung over the gate, and Mathilda sent a tiny arrow crashing into the weak point. Noxious steam poured onto the soldiers beneath it, and that commotion sent the other Agarthans into a panic. Still staying out of sight, she fired a shot dead center at one of the middle vats which caused it to crack. Unfortunately, that arrow was much more obvious, and it had several guards scanning the upper floor for a sniper. 

“Okay, Rina,” Mathilda muttered anxiously the moment the enemy spotted her, “whenever you feel like cutting in...” 

Several Cutting Gales sliced through the chaos, tossing multiple enemies to the ground and hammering against the main gate until it collapsed. Vera and Nikolai charged onto the scene. 

“Goddess, you stink so bad I can smell you from here!” Nikolai exclaimed while slashing a soldier with his sword. 

“Nice to see you too,” Irina snapped as she slit a warlock’s throat.

“Radiant Snowfall!” Vera commanded. Immediately, Nikolai cast Seraphim, its light blinding their opponents. With their opponents stunned, Irina fired off Blizzard to encase them in ice—a perfect opportunity for both of them to unleash a flurry of sword slashes.

With the teens’ backs to the entrance, the Agarthans seized the chance to block their only escape route with a wall of warriors. Simultaneously, troops engaged them head-on, hoping to box in the four nobles.

“Nikki, hang back,” Vera skewered a warrior on her lance. “Dragon Lunge into Arrow Volley.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Mathilda happily bounced several feet into the air and held her gauntlets out in front: together, Breaker and Biter formed a single, large fist. Irina used Wind to turn the girl into a living battering ram: she plowed through several Agarthans, clearing the rest of them a path. When she landed, Mathilda rolled away from the crowd and drew her bow. A myriad of arrows left her at breakneck speed: many of her targets dodged, but hitting them wasn’t her true aim. Vera used their lack of focus to stab some, and throw others; either way, they were down for the count. 

“Who’s next?” the princess growled. However, her show of force wasn’t met with fear, but a renewed assault. The Agarthans reformed and charged again, this time in a different formation; it seemed that they were intent on fighting to the last man. 

“Our main objective is destroying this place.” Nikolai eyed the vats from earlier and took Vera’s arm. “Tidal Wave me.” 

Vera looked at him like he’d grown a second head. She surveyed their surroundings and heaved a sigh. “Fine. Come here. Mattie, Rina, keep them off us!” 

“Will do!”

“Will _try_.” 

Apparently across the laboratory, the enemy had the same idea. “Overheat the burners!” the Agarthan commander cried above the din of battle. “Let these Goddess dogs _burn_ in righteous flame!”

Mathilda snorted and delivered a roundhouse kick to some poor sap’s head. “Do these people hear themselves?” 

“Yes,” Nikolai replied as his sister hoisted him up, “That’s what makes it so crazy.”

“Like we’re any better,” Vera grumbled, gauging the distance. With a deep, shaky breath, she launched her brother like a javelin. He flew to the other side of the factory, and started casting Aura as he closed in on his target; right when Nikolai reached, he dropped the spell like a bomb. It collided with the center most canister and spread out, causing one container to shatter after the other. 

In no time at all, the area was flooded with the bubbling, sulfuric concoction. Mathilda sprung to higher ground and Irina used a gust to lift herself above the oncoming ooze. Nikolai ended up clinging to the top of a broken canister while Vera scaled the nearest pipeline. Work stations were toppled, their contents spilling over and dissolving in the mire. Any remaining Agarthans followed suit, shrieking as they burned into bloody swatches; the miasma of viscera made Nikolai sick.

Mathilda herself almost puked at the new, putrid scent. “I’d say this is a mission accomplished, but I don’t think we can take anyone hostage.” 

“Speaking of,” Irina called out, looking frantic, “How the _HELL_ are we getting out of here?!”

Vera thought for a bit. “Can you use Blizzard to freeze that stuff?” 

“I mean,” Irina scanned the hazardous waste dubiously, “I can try?” She iced a small section of it, but it began melting after a few moments. “This should be fun…” Irina dropped onto the dissolving ice and quickly created another frozen patch: she hopped from one fragment to another until she reached the exit. “Okay, what _now_?” 

“Um,” Vera was almost out of ideas. Almost. “Use Excalibur on us, I guess.” 

Irina picked up on Vera’s suggestion and scoffed derisively. “Sure, _why not_!” she rolled her eyes and cast the spell in their direction. It was a struggle to keep Excalibur’s winds gentle enough so her friends floated toward her instead of being blasted away. 

“You’re doing great, Rina!” Nikolai chimed. 

“And hating every second of it.” She grimaced under the strain. “Also, is it me, or was this a little _too_ easy?”

“I’m sorry, ‘too easy’?” Mathilda retorted. “Were you not present when we got caked in shit?” She gestured jerkily at their begrimed appearances. 

Irina brought Nikolai closer and set him on his feet. “I meant the actual fight,” her grip on Excalibur wavered, but she held fast. “Most of these people were barely combat capable—the majority were just a bunch of alchemists.” She pulled Vera and Mathilda out of range of the muck and dropped them. “Never ask me to do that again.” 

Vera held what little remained of the main doors open for her companions. “I don’t suspect that this will become a regular thing,” she assured Irina, “so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Except _that_ ,” Nikolai said, pointing forward. They followed his finger to a horde of Agarthan soldiers.

“‘Scuse me, move it please,” A boy no older than Nikolai pushed his way through the crowd and gazed at the broken-down hideout with tears in his eyes. He had messy light brown hair, grey skin and was dressed as a grappler. “No… no, no, we _can’t_ be too late.” He walked right past the four teenagers and fell to his knees in front of the collapsed entrance. “Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit!” 

With great apprehension, Nikolai approached the distraught Agarthan. “Hey, um… are you alright?”

“Am. I. Alright?” The boy turned to stare at him, his eyes wild. “Is that your idea of a joke? How could I _possibly_ be alright when,” he pounded his fist into the ground, “Sinthia’s going to be _disappointed in me_?!” 

“Well, I mean-” Nikolai floundered as he slowly backed into his sister. In hindsight, this was a stupid idea. “Who _is_ Sinthia?” 

The Agarthan child stood abruptly, looking like he had just been asked the dumbest question in the world. “Who is-” 

“Commander Eris,” a tired soldier spoke up, “Perhaps we shouldn’t waste time talking to surface dwellers.” 

The one apparently named Eris hissed at the trooper before whipping his head back to Nikolai. “I can’t return empty handed,” he growled and armed himself with silver gauntlets. “ _I’ll bring her your heads_!” Practically foaming, Eris leapt like a jungle cat, hell bent on tearing them apart limb from bloody limb.

As soon as he moved, his battalion surrounded them. Mathilda just barely intercepted Eris as the other three stood back to back. “Someone please tell me there’s a plan,” she grunted, desperately trying to hold her ground against her frothing opponent. 

“Yeah,” Irina yelled, wrapping Excalibur around all of them, “Don’t die!”

___

“He’s cute and all,” Iosif scratched the pegasus’ inky mane, “but what am I supposed to do with him?” The flying horse promptly nipped his finger, and the redhead reeled with an unmanly yelp.

Maura chuckled. “Considering her reputation, I find it hard to believe Ingrid Galatea wouldn’t have made both her children learn how to fly.” 

Iosif inspected his swollen digit. “Pegasi can’t stand male riders.” 

“ _Fódlan’s_ pegasi can’t stand male riders. Sybil mentioned on multiple occasions that Velvet here was foreign born and bred.” 

“That doesn’t change anything!” he sputtered. Iosif swore the beast cast an evil grin at him just then. “Flying is Klem’s thing, not mine. A regular old horse is more than good enough for me.” 

“But the poor thing will die of loneliness without a partner!” Maura clutched Velvet’s head in a dramatic embrace. “And who else would willingly take an Agarthan spy’s steed?” 

He still wasn’t moved: even Velvet’s puppy dog eyes didn’t leave an impression. “Why don’t _you_ take him in?” 

Maura quirked her brow. “I would if I knew how to fly. Alas, I do not.” She pulled Iosif closer until he was in the pegasus’ face. “Don’t be shy!”

Several seconds passed as Velvet and Iosif stared at each other. Eventually, Iosif groaned. “Fine, but only until further notice.” The horse’s whinny sounded too similar to maniacal laughter for Iosif’s liking. “Don’t get too comfortable, buddy.” He took Velvet’s reins and led him into the stable. 

Kliment squealed at the sight. “Oh my- IS THIS FOR REAL?” He nearly tripped over in excitement as he ran to his brother. “Are you really going to be a flier from now on?!” 

“Uh,” Iosif glanced between Kliment’s beaming expression and Velvet’s beady eyes. “Maybe?” 

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Bran deadpanned from his bedroll, counting his arrows and maintaining Nightingale. 

“You have _no room_ to talk, Sir Motion Sickness,” Iosif spat, taking some joy in Bran’s pinched expression. “At least _I’m_ not flying into the coming battle.”

“This is a DREAM COME TRUE.” Kliment clasped Iosif’s hands. “I’ve always wanted us to soar together!” 

“Klem, you’re making it sound so… idyllic,” Iosif snickered, “This isn’t one of your childhood storybooks.”

“Is this going to last much longer?” Emilia interrupted, “Some of us would like to move into position.” She slung a battleaxe over her shoulder and tapped her foot. 

“Alright, Emmy, I hear you,” Kliment waved at her. “Bran, are you ready to-?”

“I’m _WALKING_ ,” the archer declared. He gathered his things and dashed off at the speed of light.

Kliment huffed at his reaction. “Fenya,” he pointed in the direction Bran had gone in, “ _Retrieve._ ” Fenya flew off, a high-pitched ‘ ** _NOOOOOO_**!’ was heard in the distance, and she returned minutes later with dangling Bran from her hind legs. 

Emilia rolled her eyes. “Would you stop screaming?” When that didn’t work, she pulled out her syringe. “I _can_ and _will_ sedate you.” 

Bran’s mouth clicked shut so loudly that Kliment flinched, hoping he hadn’t chipped any teeth. “Just hold onto me. I promise you’ll be fine.” 

On her part, Geneva looked more than slightly concerned. She signed at Maura. ‘Are they really up to this?’ 

“Truthfully,” Maura peered at the small, ragtag group. “I don’t know. I certainly hope so.”

___

Ailell matched every description of damnation from the Seiros scriptures; strewn across the hellscape were lava pools, scorching obsidian, and countless pillars of smoke. Even though they were positioned outside the fiery mountain pass, Maura’s group still sweat profusely from the sweltering heat. 

Bran clung to Kliment like a lifeline, which only made the heat worse. The rider tugged on his wyvern’s bridle, and she soared upward; now it appeared as though Bran was trying to melt into him. 

“This is the spot,” Kliment tried and failed to gently nudge his companion away. “Right?” 

“Sure,” Bran replied, refusing to look and gripping Kliment tighter.

“I wasn’t asking you.” Kliment looked at Geneva, who gave him a thumbs up. “That means, for the time being, you can _get off_.” 

“Like, on the ground?” Bran dared to hope.

“Yes.” 

“I’d jump for joy if I wasn’t, well, y’know.”

When Fenya touched down on the cliff, the two noticed Iosif helping Emilia mount his horse. “Fire after sixty seconds,” he shouted at Bran. Then the redhead and Geneva rode off in separate directions. 

Bran knocked a fiery arrow: he was far more confident now that he wasn’t several feet in the air. “Ten, eleven, twelve…” The archer narrowed his gaze as he pulled the bowstring back. 

Kliment surveyed the surrounding area and saw a series of figures moving toward them: as they got nearer, he identified a woman at the head of the brigade. She had long, silver hair and pitch black eyes—it felt like she was watching him. 

“Forty, forty-one, forty-two…” 

A heavily guarded covered wagon rolled precariously through craters and over small boulders; that had to be their target. It was moving slowly enough that Geneva should be able to time it right, but any number of things could go wrong. Bran could jump the gun, or- No, they were going to get it right.

Abruptly, the leading woman halted her caravan. A slight girl approached her. “Lady Sinthia?” 

“You who aim to ambush us,” she announced in a surprisingly commanding voice, “is there any chance of your surrender?” 

“Wh-” Kliment couldn’t help stuttering at the brazen display. 

“Fifty-three, fifty-four…” 

Several beats of quiet passed. Sinthia seemed disappointed. “Very well.” 

“ _Sixty_.” 

___


	13. Just Another Battle. Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never expect anything to be easy.

21st of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Agarthan Hideout, Kingdom Territory—

“What the fuck are you on?!” Mathilda had long since given up on trying to match Eris blow for blow; the last time their fists had connected she was pretty sure she’d broken a knuckle. The boy moved more of an animal than a grappler: he stayed low to the ground and pounced into every attack. He jumped at her in a full-body tackle, but she ducked under him and kicked his body overhead. 

Undeterred, Eris’ head whipped around. With crazed eyes, he lunged and wrenched Mathilda’s pigtails, throwing her to the ground. Before she could get back on her feet, Eris was panting like a dog into Mathilda’s ear. 

Grabbing a fistful of her hair Eris yanked Mathilda’s head out of the dirt. “The least you could do is put up a decent fight,” he hissed, spittle hitting her cheek. 

“ _ Shut. Up. _ ” She twisted his thumb to loosen his grip and headbutted him. “I guess I’m tired after killing a shitton of your friends.” Mathilda went on the attack this time and went in for an uppercut; he blocked her fist, but she promptly aimed a kick at his face. Even still, Eris powered through his broken nose and launched himself at her. 

While Mathilda battled to the death, Vera, Irina, and Nikolai were fending off any attackers that pushed through the whirlwind surrounding them. 

Irina grit her teeth: she could feel her magic waning. “I can’t keep this up forever. Any bright ideas?” 

“Have you noticed that we’ve been fighting the same guys over and over?” Vera flipped backward and brought her lance downward, piercing through a foe’s back. “There’s a healer out there.” 

Nikolai dodged a sweeping spear and cut across his enemy’s shoulder, making them back away. “I could take care of them if I had a clear view.” 

“On it,” Vera responded and signaled to Irina, who let Excalibur completely fade. With intense precision, the two girls cut through the ranks before them, one firing off Cutting Gales and the other bashing at foes with both lance and fist. 

“Well,” a haughty voice called. “This certainly makes things easier!” A roguish trickster slipped between his fellow soldiers, twirling the end of his black pointed beard. He smirked and made a show of spinning his rapier. “I suppose I should thank you for being so eager to rush to your graves.” 

“I would ask who you are,” Nikolai said tiredly, “but I really don’t care.”

“Well aren’t you a rude one!” the man huffed. “I’ve always believed that you should at least learn someone’s name before skewering them.” He bowed. “I am Eskandar—the last and most handsome face your pitiful eyes will ever see. Feel free to take a moment to bask. I’ll allow it.” 

The prince groaned and raised his sword at his challenger. “Let’s go,” he growled through grit teeth.

Eskandar tossed his rapier, caught it, and struck a dramatic battle pose. “If you insist.” Then, he  _ disappeared _ . 

Nikolai blinked. “Where did…?” He narrowly avoided the sword strike from his right and spun to parry another blow from the left. Eskandar looked obnoxiously amused. “How-” Again, the trickster vanished. 

“It truly is a shame how few have mastered this little trick,” a Nosferstu barreled toward him from behind, and Nikolai leapt aside. “Your performance is equally disappointing, little prince,” he sniped, firing an Aura before teleporting away.

“Warp,” Nikolai theorized, his head whipping back and forth. “That has to be Warp.” His crest warned him of the oncoming overhead slice. He tried jumping out of the way, but Eskandar called his dodge and got in a cut on his arm. It wasn’t deep, but it still stung. 

“I take it you’re used to your allies defending you,” Eskandar tsked. “What a waste,” he warped right in front of Nikolai and brought his knee into the blonde’s chest, “of my precious time.” 

“That,” Nikolai coughed, “is  _ my _ line.” In the blink of an eye, the blonde’s blade hand flicked upward and Silence descended over his foe. “Airhead _. _ ” He snapped, bringing his sword up. 

Eskandar parried with a hiss. “Brat.” 

In the meantime, Vera and Irina faced down a great knight with magic and brute force alike. Spells bounced off his armor like raindrops on a roof, and his axe struck with enough force to make Vera hesitate.

“We need to either finish this,” Irina used an ice wall to stop the knight from striking the princess. “or get out of here. What’s it gonna be?” 

“I’m not one to back down,” Vera smiled wryly, “Let’s wrap things up, starting with this bastard.”

With a stiff nod, Irinia scrutinized their enemy. “You go for the legs.”

“So you can take him on the ground?” 

“Something like that.” 

Vera went right for the horse, slashing at its legs while she ducked an axe slash. “All yours!” 

Irina rushed forward, and her sword gleamed with energy. The knight moved to counter, she struck the ground in front of him, hurling her into the air. While airborne, she channeled Cutting Gale into her weapon and leveled it at the man’s head: a messy decapitation was the result. She turned to Vera, completely unperturbed. “Moving on.” 

—Ailell, Kingdom Territory—

The Agarthan leader raised her hands, and the earth shook. Iosif’s legs fell out from underneath him, and the others soon joined him on the ground. If the intense tremors had started a second earlier, Bran’s shot would have missed. Thankfully, the archer’s flaming arrow soared over the caravan and lodged itself in the cliffside behind them. 

Before the bomb could ignite however, the sudden seismic activity triggered a rockslide, and all of Geneva’s carefully placed explosives were crushed beneath boulders. All Kliment and Bran could do was watch in horror as the untouched convoy of deadly pathogens continued onward.

“Minerva,” Sinthia beckoned a female paladin forward. “I offered them mercy and they refused. Now, they’ve left us no choice.” 

Minerva gave a smirk venomous enough to rival the illness they were carrying. “As you command, milady!” Her dark hair swished as she turned to address the others. “My fellow Agarthans,  _ search and destroy. _ ” A collective roar filled the valley as Minerva led a charge. 

“Well,” Bran turned to Kliment, “we’re fucked.”

“Not necessarily!” the wyvern rider protested, his mind frantically running through alternatives. “Let’s fly to the others,  _ no arguing just get on _ !” 

Bran gulped and gracelessly threw himself onto Fenya’s back, limbs wrapped around Kliment with an unyielding grip. They took off at a much higher speed than before, and the archer felt his heart drop. “Urk. Could ya, maybe, slow it down a little?” 

“Nope!” Kliment snapped as he brought them in for a rough landing. The redhead didn’t wait for Bran to dismount, he jumped off and sprinted straight toward his brother. “You guys saw that right?!” 

Iosif held his fingers to his temples. “How could we  _ not? _ ” He forced himself to breathe at a reasonable pace. “Alright, okay, this isn’t the end. Forget trying to set off any other bombs—we can’t waste another. We just need to find Geneva and-” A javelin hurtled past his head, nearly taking his ear off; the paladin’s group was closing in on them. Bran loosed a few arrows in retaliation.

“Please, don’t tell me we are charging headfirst into death,” Emilia pleaded, though she did retrieve her axe all the same. 

“Unfortunately,” Iosif mounted his horse. “that’s  _ exactly _ what I’m doing.” He looked toward Bran, Kliment and Emilia. “You three get to Geneva.” 

“What about you?” Kliment cast Iosif a worried look.

Instead of replying, Iosif sent his steed into a sprint, a Thoron beam blasting from his fingertips and knocking a bow knight to the ground. “ _ Go! _ ” 

“For crying out loud…” Emilia muttered. “You two go on ahead. I’ll back him up.” 

Not needing to be told twice, Kliment rejoined Bran in Fenya’s saddle and sent her rocketing upward. His keen eyes desperately searched the debris for a tiny brunette, but the task was made ridiculously more difficult by the archers determined to down him. 

Bran glanced back and instantly regretted it. “Uh, there may or may not be fliers coming after us.” 

“Fantastic,” Kliment moved Fenya past another volley of arrows from beneath them. “Can you range it?” 

The bowman eyed the distance between them before nocking an arrow. “Twenty yards,” he called over the whistling winds. “I’ll fill ‘em with holes.” Despite his words, his arms were trembling too much to get in a clean shot. “Fucking hell,  _ c’mon. _ ” 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Kliment jerked the reins. “Hang on.” Fenya looped up and above their foes; Bran’s desire to stay alive far outweighed the need to vomit, and he hit a pegasus rider right in her neck. He was already reloading by the time the wyvern went back into an upright position, and fired two more shots that pierced the wings of another flier. 

A third rider came out of seemingly nowhere, and got right into Fenya’s space. They lashed out with a sword, and Bran almost fell off in an effort to keep his head attached to his shoulders. He readied Nightingale again, but his opponent was too close for him to effectively loose an arrow. 

“Shit. Klem, can you-” Fenya’s bridle was suddenly shoved into his hands. “ _ NO _ , bad idea!” 

“Hold her steady.” Ignoring Bran, Kliment flipped over him and cut through the other rider’s side with his lance: the knight’s body plummeted off their pegasus, which he was now standing on. The creature tried bucking him off, and he swiftly made to jump back onto Fenya. However, things weren’t going so well on Bran’s end—holding a flying animal ‘steady’ wasn’t easy for someone who’d never done it before.

“ _ Any time you wanna come back, that’d be swell _ !”

“Hell with it,” Kliment muttered, “Let go of the reins!” He recited a quick prayer and took a leap of faith. Free falling, his weightless stomach doing somersaults and the wind biting him as he plummeted, Kliment whistled as loud as he could. Goddess be praised, Fenya immediately reacted to his ‘catch me’ signal and swooped in below her rider. His right ankle twisted under the weight of his rough landing. 

“Never,” Bran growled, “fucking do that  **_again_ ** .”

Kliment bit his lip in pain and took control of Fenya again. The wyvern seemed to sense he was hurt, and gave a low, comforting coo. He reached out to run her snout. “I’ll be fine, girl.” As they continued their flight, he saw a mop of brown hair sticking out of a crevice. “Found her.” 

They touched down and Bran raced to Geneva; the girl was bruised with a hairline cut on her forehead, but she could still fight. “Haul ass!” Bran grabbed her by the arm. She smacked his hand away, clutching a large, cracked bottle to her chest. Geneva pointed at the container, motioned between both of them, and mimicked an explosion as best she could. 

Kliment picked up on her motions, estimated the amount of soldiers between themselves and the carriage. Thirty-five maybe? He and Bran could  _ possibly _ take that many. “How much time do you need?”

Geneva held up five fingers and went back to readying the Molotov cocktail for detonation. Bran prepped an arrow and Kliment tested his leg—it gave out from under him and he muttered something that sounded vaguely like an obscenity. 

Emilia hacked another grunt in half diagonally, her nonplussed expression unwavering. A brigand came up behind her, wailing some stupid battle cry, and she downed him with a Nosferatu at the flick of her wrist.

“Still alive, Iosif?” she drawled.

“Been,” Iosif deflected the mighty swing of Minerva’s lance, “better!” He tried to hit her with Thunder, but her stallion deftly got out of the way. How she could move this easily on rough terrain was an utter mystery. “Heads up: I’m about to do something  _ really _ stupid.” Minerva raised an eyebrow at him before charging again. 

Emilia groaned and severed a warrior’s arm. “Is there no way for me to talk you out of it?” 

“Afraid not,” Iosif summoned every ounce of magic he possessed. “Just… try not to get in front of me.” He snapped his fingers and Thoron clipped Minerva’s armored shoulder, then again and again until her horse was forced to fall back some paces. But even then, she was still too close, so Iosif raised his arms and brought them down; the hellish wrath of Ragnarok descended upon Minerva.

Even singed, the girl did not let up. “My mother spits bigger fireballs than that,” she smirked before rushing him at full force.

“Hope this doesn’t kill me.” With one last great effort, Iosif threw his arms out; the piercing cry of Banshee shook the ground and made nearby enemies’ ears ring. 

“What in Seiros’ name?!” Emilia spun around just in time to see Iosif slump off his mount. Minerva was down, but her eyes were open and she was still breathing. The Duscur girl cast Warp, moving an unconscious Iosif away from any close opponents: now she just had to get to his body and get them both out of there. 

“Not,” Minerva pushed herself into a sitting position, “finished yet!” She clutched her side with one hand and leveled a javelin at the retreating Emilia’s head: no matter how much she willed herself to throw, her body simply wouldn’t cooperate. “Children of the Goddess be damned,” Minerva spat. Then, someone’s Recover washed over her. 

Sinthia helped her up, even letting the paladin lean against her for support. “That’s enough,” she chided. All around them, members of her battalion were severely battered. Many were still clutching their ears from bearing the brunt of Banshee. “You underestimated your opponents, and you’ve paid the price. Now, you rest.” 

“I can still fight!” She insisted. “We can  _ all _ still fight!” 

“Our mission isn’t to fight,” Sinthia reprimanded, “It is to deliver our cargo to its destination.”

“But-”

“You can listen to me,” Sinthia’s eyes narrowed, “or I can inform our master that your inexperienced tactics cost us  _ greatly _ . Which will it be?” 

Minerva hung her head with a grumble. “Yes, milady.” 

___

As the fight dragged on, it became increasingly apparent that these reinforcements were no mere grunts. Eris’ strikes were keeping Mathilda on the defensive, and Eskandar was no slouch without magic—his sword faire was lethal enough on its own and Nikolai found himself sustaining a sizable amount of slashes: more than a few were deep enough to warrant serious attention. Vera and Irina couldn’t help their teammates since their other enemies were making sure to keep them surrounded. Things couldn’t go on like this for much longer.

“Why won’t you die?!” Eris had gone from batshit to psychotic; he bashed his head against Mathilda’s, and shoved the dazed girl to the ground. “Go away!” he cried, stomping on her chest for good measure.

Mathilda fought to keep both blood and bile in her mouth— _ everything  _ hurt, to the point where she couldn’t tell if anything was broken; all she knew was a constant sharp throbbing all over. 

Eskandar, holding the tip of his rapier to the flat of Nikolai’s long sword, sighed at the image of his commander losing it again: he was supposed to be setting an example. “For the love of all things unholy,  _ control yourself _ !” he yelled. All he got for a response was an unintelligible roar from Eris. Eskandar wanted to face palm. “Always a pleasure chatting with you, dear Eris!” He’d need to do away with this runt and get the boy to calm down before he disgraced himself in front of the battalion. 

Nikolai took note of the apparent discord in the opposing ranks: if he survived this, maybe that information would prove useful. 

“You have more fight in you than I expected!” he remarked haughtily. He crushed his heel against Nikolai’s boot, and the prince jumped back in pain. “If you surrender now, I can promise you a somewhat swift demise.”

“What’s the word I’m looking for?” Nikolai said, lunging at his opponent, “Oh right: NO.” It was a massive strain to fight while trying to keep Silence active, but he couldn’t afford to let up. 

Vera knocked a sword master back and regained her stance; neither she nor Irina had downed anyone since the great knight from earlier—now they were just blocking attacks. They obviously wouldn’t be able to dispatch all of them, but that was fine: the objective had already been completed. All four of them were exhausted, so at the moment the only goal was getting away. But  _ how _ exactly? 

Mathilda was clearly punch-drunk, doing her best to get Vera’s attention with the madman on her tail. Her clothes were torn, her face was bruised almost completely black, and she bled from multiple places; the princess grimaced at her pummeled appearance. She hoped that she could reach Mathilda before she collapsed.

Irina’s magic reserves were getting dangerously low. She could probably only pull off three or four more spells. If they were going to make a break for it, it had to be sooner rather than later. Irina stood back-to-back with Vera. “We need to clear a path.” She asserted. 

“I know. I’m thinking.” No one had to tell Vera that she needed to think faster. “The four of us have to regroup. Then we charge our way out. Can you get to Nikki and pull off another Radiant Snowfall?” 

Irina shrugged helplessly. “I’m willing to try it if you can keep them,” she motioned to the incoming wave of Agarthans, “distracted.” Irina used Wind to lift herself into the air: Nikolai was still dueling to the death with that trickster. “Nikki!” She called. “Radiant Snowfall!” 

Her friend didn’t have to look before using Seraphim with all his might. Eskandar fell back with a pathetic yelp, and the Agarthans rushing to his aid vainly tried to shield their eyes from the blinding light. The next thing their enemies knew, they were encased in ice. 

With several members of their brigade trapped, soldiers scrambled to cover the gaps in formation, but they were too late. Vera grabbed Mathilda and placed the girl over her shoulder with as much care as possible: she sprinted to the ice that outlined a path away from the horde. “RUN!” she screeched at her other two teammates. Irina and Nikolai were quick to catch up with her. 

“Fimbulvetr!” Irina realized that now wasn’t the greatest time to be trying out spells she wasn’t overly familiar with, but she needed to stop anyone from following, and Blizzard wouldn’t be enough. “Come  _ on _ ,” The Crest of Dominic materialized. “ **_Fimbulvetr_ ** !” A series of enormous, iced spikes formed along the ground, putting a dead stop between them and any pursuers. At least her crest had kept her from using up the limited magic she had left. 

“We’re,” Nikolai glanced back at the barricade. “really lucky to have you.” 

“I’m well aware.” 

“Lez nev’r do that again,” Mathilda slurred.

___

“Are you  _ kidding _ me?!” Kliment stared at his brother’s limp form in disbelief. “He did this to  _ himself _ ?” Geneva clapped his back: he had to concentrate. 

“He should be fine,” Emilia leaned Iosif’s body on a nearby rock. “He’s just tired.” 

Bran returned from collecting arrows, looking even more beat up than when he ran off. “I’ve got seven shots,” he jerked his thumb at his near-empty quiver. “So please, tell me we’re finally ready to do this.” 

Geneva gave him an ‘okay’ sign: the cocktail ready. She’d have to light it on their way forward to keep it from going off prematurely. Emilia stretched her back and cracked her knuckles: this would either end in the greatest turnaround of the century, or a bloody, bloody death. Geneva counted to three on her left hand, and then they took off. 

Emilia and Bran took one side, which is to say that she attacked and he tried to ration three arrows. Kliment swooped in low on the opposite side, lashing out with his lance while Fenya crushed foes in her claws. For a moment, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope—the Agarthan numbers were thinning and the carriage was mere paces away. So of course everything went wrong shortly after, as universal law dictates whenever one gets too optimistic.

Geneva recalled the unseen danger far too late. When the group was within a few feet of the caravan, a red rune flared to life—pillars of fire erupted from the earth and their heat was searing enough to singe her hair. She turned on her heel and grabbed Bran and Emilia’s hands. Fenya swerved into a u-turn. 

“What the absolute  _ fuck _ ?!” Bran shrieked. Then he remembered the notes about Agarthans traps. The caravan just had to be parked right in front of them, didn’t it? “How do we get to it now?” 

In a split second decision, the brunette of the bunch waved Kliment over and handed him her homemade bomb right after lighting it: he was the only one capable of going around the flames. “I’ll get it done!” 

Fenya dipped beneath arrows, over spells, and grazed the mountainside before she was above their target. The Agarthans inside looked up in bewilderment, pondering the likelihood of a wyvern outlasting a battalion of magic users. They didn’t have to wonder for very long before Kliment chucked Geneva’s sizzling concoction at the fools below. 

A deafening explosion sounded throughout the valley, a greenish mushroom cloud blotted out the sun, and the smell of gunpowder swept over them. But they didn’t have time to celebrate the victory: the four shoved through lingering foes and rushed back to Iosif’s body. Emilia threw him onto Fenya, and then they were running for their horses. 

A sinister warlock flanked by two dark bishops loomed in front of them. “You’ll go no further!” Dark Spikes encircled the five teens. Emilia took a sharp breath and focused on the spot where the leading warlock stood: an arrow of blue flame poured forth from the heavens. The three just barely scrambled out of the way in time to avoid being burned to cinders. With their concentration broken, the Dark Spikes vanished. 

“Was,” Bran looked to the sky, “Was that actually divine intervention?” 

“Agnea’s Arrow,” Emilia replied, “It’s close enough.” While running past the disoriented spell-casters, she realized that they still needed to take some hostages. The hilt of her weapon rendered two unconscious, and she snagged the soon-to-be prisoners by their robes, hauling them along for the bumpy ride back to the stables.

___

They were victorious, but nobody was happy; everyone was beat to shit, nursing injuries that demanded immediate treatment. Confident though they were in their healing capabilities, Nikolai and Emilia couldn’t be in seven places at once. It certainly wasn’t helped by the fact that they wanted to hibernate until next spring. Emilia caught sight of Nikolai flinching at one of his multiple cuts, and forced the prince to sit. “Let me handle this.” 

“You can’t help everyone on your own.” He tried to stand, but she wouldn’t allow it. “Emmy, I can deal with some gashes.”

She shook her head. “You’ll be in trouble if you don’t disinfect those.” Emilia handed him ointment and gauze before moving to her next patient. Mathilda was unquestionably in the worst condition. She slowly moved Recover over her friend’s wounds. “Can someone get me ice?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Irina grumbled. She poured some water into her hand, froze it into an oddly shaped block, and handed it to Emilia. “That good, or are you going to need more?” Crest or no crest, Irina’s magic reserves were all but exhausted; she’d rather not strain herself any further.

“That’s more than enough,” Emilia pressed the ice to a particularly blackened bruise and gently raised Mathilda’s head, sliding a bag underneath it to keep her elevated. “Mattie,” she held up a hand, “can you tell how many fingers I’m holding up?” 

“Mmm,” Mathilda blinked a few times and frowned. “Uh, four?” 

“Two, actually. Your vision is doubling.” 

“Is that bad?” she asked deliriously.

With the Crest of Lamine thrumming through her veins, Emilia amplified her healing power and willed the girl’s muscles and bones to mend; the nastiest wounds faded, but magic couldn’t fix everything. Even if it could, she couldn’t expend all her energy on one person. “Not anymore,” she sighed, “I’ve done all that I can so… sleep the rest of it off.”

Mathilda fell into a heavy slumber. Emilia moved on to Iosif, who was still knocked out. “Rina,” she tapped the redhead’s cheek, “there are smelling salts in my rucksack. Can you get them?” 

She was already rifling through her stuff. “Uh, what does it look like?” Irina squinted appraisingly at a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Two small vials,” Emilia checked Iosif’s pulse, and was relieved to feel it beating steadily. “They should smell extremely strong.” 

Irina mumbled something about her being ‘very descriptive’ while she continued her search. Eventually, she retrieved the vials and uncorked one. The indescribable scent made Irina jerk her head back and shout. “Yep, found it!” she hastily offered Emilia her findings, “Please take it away from me.”

She shoved the noxious containers under Iosif’s nose: he shot up straight away, head whipping from side to side. “I…” he checked to see if he was still a solid figure and not some ethereal spirit, “I’m alive?” 

“Indeed you are, dipshit.” Emilia promptly smacked him upside the head. 

“Well,” he attempted a weak Thunder spell, but the sparks died as soon as they were summoned, “I guess that’s what happens when you hit your magic limit and just keep going.” 

“Speaking of,” Nikolai spoke up, “can you and Irina  _ please _ stop doing that?” 

“Mmmm nope,” Iosif smirked wearily, shifting to better lay down. “If you ask me, it’s a viable tactic. I mean, Emmy, did you  _ see _ the look of ‘oh I’m screwed’ on that girl’s face?”

Kliment hobbled over, an arm over Bran’s shoulder. “I’d scold you, but I did throw myself off a pegasus today.” 

“I’m all patched up,” Nikolai finished rolling gauze around one last cut. “So I can help with your leg, Klem.” 

Bran roughly took Kliment’s arm, and he flinched when pressure was applied to his ankle. “Slow down a little,” he told his human crutch. 

“Oho no,” Bran chuckled darkly, wearing a menacing smile worthy of Maura, “you deserve this.” The exasperated archer didn’t bother being delicate as he dragged Kliment over to Nikolai. “I have an idiot for you, doctor,” he drawled, “His brain is irreparably fucked, but please fix his body.” 

“What exactly happened?” Nikolai began. 

“Klem thought, ‘Bran’s afraid of flying, I’m gonna give him the reins! This’ll end well!’” Bran crossed his arms, glaring as Nikolai helped their companion sit down. “Guess what? It didn’t.”

“I had to do it so I could use my spear on the person right behind us,” Kliment countered. “You know, since you can’t fire at point-blank range.” He winced as Nikolai started setting his leg in a makeshift cast. “Besides, this isn’t the first time I’ve fallen. It’s no big deal.” 

Bran scoffed. “No big deal he says.” 

Kliment gave him a blank look. “Would you have preferred it if I had started freaking out?” 

“I would have preferred not doing this in the first place!” 

“Well I’m sorry,” Kliment put as much sarcasm as humanly possible into his words, “I’m not the one who gave us the mission.”

“True, but that woman terrifies me, and there’s no way in hell I’m arguing with him,” Bran jerked his thumb at Iosif, “so I’m taking it out on you.” 

“What the-” Kliment felt his brain short-circuit. No one was prepared for what he said next. “Who the  _ fuck _ does that help?” 

“Me, obviously.”

Nikolai stopped everything he was doing. “Did you just  _ swear _ ?!” Everyone who was conscious openly gawked at the three boys. 

“No, I-” Kliment paused, recounting their conversation, “I don’t swear.”

“Except for just now,” Bran snickered.

“Holy Seiros,” the prince looked like he had just seen the face of Sothis herself, “ _ you just swore _ .”

Kliment was legitimately puzzled. “I  _ never _ do that. Why the shit would I even-”

“YOU SEE!” Nikolai pointed at him, ecstatic. Bran and Iosif instantly lost their shit, rolling around laughing their heads off.

“You,” Kliment pointed an accusatory finger at Bran. “YOU DID THIS TO ME.” 

“Yes, and I love it.” Bran wiped the wetness from his eyes; his jaw ached from giggling so hard. 

“I think I’ll enjoy watching Bran slowly corrupt you.” 

“Fu-” the younger Gautier bit his lip hard enough to hurt. “ _ Screw _ you.” Iosif cackled like a demon bent on mischief, and Nikolai sobbed tears of pure mirth. “It’s not funny!” 

___

The biting cold of night was a welcome change after Vera spent the day sweating and bleeding. She had sustained the least damage, and she was spending her time wondering what Maura could have possibly been doing that was more important than helping them. 

“Speak of the devil,” Vera muttered when a green-haired woman finally came into view. “Where on the Goddess’ green earth have you been?!” 

Maura was more subdued than usual. She hopped off her horse, wearing a grimace on her face. “I’m afraid the corruption in my ranks ran deeper than Sybil. Her lord held more influence than I expected.” Maura pulled her hair into a bun that was messier than it was before. “For now, I’m cutting contact with most of my associates. I need to reevaluate who I can trust.” 

“Great,” Vera messaged her forehead; it was just one bad thing after another today. “Is there any  _ good _ news that you have for us?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Maura stepped around her and was greeted with the sight of their beaten and bruised allies. “Do  _ you _ have good news?” 

“Ugh. Yes, everything has been dealt with. Also, Emilia asked me to tell you that we've secured some prisoners.”

“Perfect,” It was a tad disturbing that  _ this _ was what managed to brighten her mood. “Is Iosif still in one piece?” 

“Eh,” Emilia wobbled her hand from side to side.

The Gautier in question ran out from the stable interior with a wildly happy gaze. “Ready to start the interrogation?” 

___


	14. By The Way...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not-so-friendly warning that comes a little too late.

21st of Guardian Moon, Year 1202

—Galatea Lands, Kingdom Territory—

Sack? Check. Rope? Check. Welding rod, scalpel, and needles? Triple check. Iosif smiled merrily; a bounce in his step, he set off to greet the new arrivals with Maura. As hosts, it would be rude of them to keep their guests waiting. 

“Um,” Kliment stared at the items his brother had happily gathered. “What is all of that for, exactly?” He couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to be present for the questioning. “Surely, the welding tool isn’t necessary.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Iosif whistled a jaunty tune as he continued on his way. “You can never be too prepared!” 

Kliment took his arm, expression serious and tone firm. “Be careful. We don’t know what those men might be capable of.” 

“I’ll stay as safe as possible given the circumstances,” Iosif pulled out of Kliment’s hold. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He made his way into an old shed behind the stable and met Maura at the entrance. The woman was ever so slightly annoyed. 

“They aren’t saying anything worthwhile,” she informed him. “I figured I’d take a break,” Maura patted his shoulder with a grin, “and let you entertain them.” 

He grinned back. “I’ll see what I can do.” When he entered the shed and set his things aside, the first thing he noticed was just how stoic their captives were; well, the warlock was—the dark bishop beside him tried to appear impassive, but the occasional tremor gave him away. “Hello, gentlemen.” 

The warlock lifted his head ever so slightly, black and grey hair covering his eyes. He said nothing, nor did he have any kind of reaction to Iosif’s presence. This one probably gave Maura the most trouble, but his compatriot was a bundle of nerves. Iosif approached the bishop and greeted him with a friendly smile.

“Why so jumpy?” he asked, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Iosif patted the man’s cheek and relished his flinch. “But if you don’t cooperate…” He shrugged and left the rest of his statement to their imagination. 

The dark bishop’s eyes nervously flitted between Iosif and his superior. Sweat trailed down his forehead as locked eyes with the redhead above him. Isoif smirked as he circled them, “C’mon, I’m curious about what it is that Fódlan can look forward to.”

“We will _rise_.” The man’s eyes got wild. “We Agarthans were always meant to be the true rulers of this continent until your Goddess ruined everything—now look at the state of it!” he spat. “Rebellion, starvation, discontent: all proof that you surface dwellers are unworthy of the land upon which you walk. We will destroy you and reshape this world in our image for the good of all.”

With a sharp laugh, Iosif crouched before the zealous spellcaster and flicked his nose. “Mighty big words for a man in cuffs.” He retrieved his metal rod and judged its weight. “Unfortunately, I was hoping you’d tell me something I don’t know.” Casting a small fire spell in his palm (which took a great deal of focus given his earlier actions), Iosif heated the blunt instrument until it glowed red. “Do you have anything else to contribute?”

“You’ll have to kill me,” he hissed, beads of sweat streaming down his face. “and gather what you can from my corpse.” 

“Hm,” Iosif hummed, bored. With a twirl of his wrist he gently touched the scorching steal to the bishop’s crotch. His victim screamed bloody murder and the distinct scent of cooked meat filled the shed. Meanwhile, the other man merely coughed at the stench. 

When his prisoner had been reduced to a whimpering mess, Iosif removed the rod and leaned in close enough to brush his lips against the warlock’s ear. “Shh, deep breaths,” he whispered, “Think hard now—why are you poisoning innocent people?”

“Guhh,” he heaved until he could speak. “We were t-told that the toxins had to b-be tested again before we could advance our pl-plans. I was just following orders. F-For the good of my people. In my position,” he panted again, “you’d do the same.” 

“Would I really?” Iosif struck him upside the face with his searing pole. “But don’t stop now,” he smirked at the pink, sinewy burn he’d left behind, “what do you hope to accomplish?”

“I don’t know,” he was trying not to sob now. “I didn’t think Sinthia would even let Persephone do this. I thought-” the man’s mouth clamped shut when he realized his mistake. 

Grinning like a kitten that had gotten the cream, Iosif backed away to pick up one of his needles. “Keep going,” he insisted, bringing the tip near the prisoner’s eye, “or my hand might get a little unsteady.” 

Shaking like a leaf, the captive gave Iosif one last look of defiance. “I can’t give you anything else,” he closed his eyes. “Kill me. _Please._ ” 

“Huh,” Iosif collected a scalpel from his pile of items. “Okay then.” Iosif cut the man’s neck and left him to bleed out while choking on his own blood. He turned to the warlock in time to see his shoulders starting to shake. 

“Heh,” the magic-user threw his head back. “Hahahaha! Oh holy hell his _face_ . ‘Kill me, please!’ Ahh, life is good. Life is _really_ good.”

Iosif’s eyebrows shot off his head. “Really?” he said flatly, “What makes you say that?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I say that?” he quirked a smile. “I’m afraid we have yet to be properly acquainted,” he extended his bound hands. “Call me Callister.” 

“Um,” Iosif squinted at the oddly chipper man, “how’d you get your arms in front of you?” He was certain that he’d restrained his prisoner’s limbs behind his back. 

“Oh, whoops, silly me,” Callister shifted so his arms were behind him again. “Pardon. I suppose I was getting a bit bored. Can you blame me, though? All that talk of blind devotion to a cause that isn’t fully understood— _Sothis_! Listening to him made me want to swallow my own tongue.” 

The fact that this Agarthan had invoked Sothis was odd enough, but his lack of passion to his people’s creed really threw Iosif for a loop. “So… are you actually going to cooperate?” he asked, slightly optimistic. 

“Hmmmmmmm,” Callister tilted his head back and forth, a somewhat thoughtful expression on his face. “That isn’t exactly an easy question to answer. You see, it depends.” 

“On what, exactly?”

“How about you start by telling me what you hope to get out of our little chat?” 

“Well,” Iosif swiped the edge of his bloody blade clean on Callister’s head, “let’s start with the illness you were manufacturing. Hoping everyone will die of whooping cough, are you?” 

“Me personally? Don’t know, don’t care. As for my ‘people’, that depends on which one of our leaders wins out in the end. One would rather subjugate while the other prefers a much more crimson path.”

“So the rest of you are just hanging on in the midst of their power struggle? That sounds…” Iosif blew out air, “annoying at best and boring at worst.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it. Still, though the paths may differ, the destination is the same.”

“This all ends sooner or later,” the Gautier set his scalpel aside. “and both sides only have two potential outcomes awaiting them. It reminds me of chess.” 

“I was always more of a tiddlywinks guy, myself,” Callister chuckled amicably. “But I suppose you can simplify any conflict down to a game of chess.” 

Iosif shrugged. “It isn’t much of a game if neither of us knows how the other’s pieces are set.”

“Who says we _don’t_ know how you set up your end of the board?” 

“Because, scheme as we might, nothing is ever entirely certain,” the redhead backed away, and motioned at the floor space between them. “With that in mind, why don’t we review our moves thus far? Both kings are at the back of the board, out of harm's way, but you’ve lost quite the number of pieces.” 

“We didn’t start _this_ : black isn’t supposed to go first. White made its move when you struck Shambhala. Good job with that by the way—the higher ups were in hysterics for a week after that.” 

“I’ll congratulate the others on your behalf,” he said blankly. “Our first move was clearing out some pawns, but all your pathogen testing has done much the same. If we took a rook in the earlier fight,” Iosif gestured to Callister, “you’ll have to counter, since that’s quite the important player.” 

“Not wrong!” Callister twiddled his thumbs behind his back. “Not exactly right either. You shouldn’t assume any actions hinge on the placement of a single piece.” He gave the younger man a vaguely serious stare. “I’m gonna let you in on something, just cuz I think you’re interesting: we aren’t playing with only one board.” 

Iosif quirked a brow. “I’m afraid that isn’t terribly specific.” The warlock didn’t elaborate, and Iosif smirked. “I’m actually kind of glad you’re making this difficult. I don’t get to do this too often.” He delivered a jab to Callister’s nose and relished the distinct crunch. 

“That,” Callister had been knocked back from the blow: blood rushed from his nostrils when his head came forward again. Despite that, he smiled. “Wasn’t necessary. Which means you must be a sadist!” 

“Guilty,” punch “as,” punch “charged!” At that second, while Iosif’s bloodied fist was about to close around Callister’s throat, the shed door was shoved open and Kliment stumbled in.

  
“What’s going—oh. Oh. Are you… okay?”   
  
  


“Klem,” Iosif sounded eerily calm given the red splattered across his cheeks. “I would really appreciate it if you left me alone.” 

Making finger-arrows, Kliment slowly backed away. “Right, gotcha,” he said and closed the door behind him. Iosif proceeded to shove a sack over Callister’s head and haul him to his feet. Then, he started wrapping the rope around his neck. 

Kliment slammed the shed back open. “Wait no, no, no,” he stuck his head inside, “You can’t just _brutalize_ someone like this!”

A long, dreadful pause went by. Iosif didn’t even look at his brother this time. “Bro, I would _really_ appreciate you not being here right now. Could you do that for me, please?” 

“I… don’t think I _should_ …”

“In that case,” Iosif let Callister’s body drop to the ground, “I guess that’s it for today.” He was about to push past Kliment to exit the dreary enclosure, but one glance at the younger boy told him that he wouldn’t be able to unsee Iosif leaving someone with a bag over their head. It was unlikely he’d ever unsee _any_ of this. With a sigh, he unbloodied himself with a rag and set Callister back in his seat, pulling the sack off and undoing the rope. 

“By th’way,” Callister started, blood rolling down his swollen lips as he spoke, “Yr abt ta be ambshd.” 

“What?”

In that moment, all hell broke loose.

___

Out of seemingly nowhere, countless Agarthan assassins converged on the shed, assailing it with flaming arrows and rushing in with venom blades. It was hard to make out Iosif and Kliment from this distance, but it looked as though there were two individuals fending off the swarm of killers encircling them. Of course, Iosif had drained his magic and Kliment’s leg was in a makeshift cast, so this would most likely be the brothers’ last stand.

Vera grabbed Mathilda and thrust the still sleeping girl onto a horse. “Nikolai!” She called, readying her lance. “Get on and get out of here.” 

“E-Excuse me?!” the prince all but snapped. “I’m not going to _abandon_ all of you!” 

“This isn’t up for discussion.” The princess threw him over her shoulder and set him onto Mathilda’s steed. “You’re in no form to fight. If you stay, you’ll get yourself killed.” She turned to Irina. “The same goes for you.” 

Before Irina could bark out a protest, the thundering of hoofbeats resonated from the south: hundreds of mounted enemies charged the stables, hurling spells, arrows, and javelins at the teenagers without fail. Emilia, Bran, and Vera shielded their friends. 

“You need to _leave_!” Vera shrieked. When Nikolai attempted to get back onto the ground, she closed her eyes and begged the Goddess to restrain her strength. 

“Grk!” Every ounce of breath left Nikolai when his sister’s fist connected with his gut. He fell to his knees, and she secured him to the mount. 

“Forgive me, Nikki.” Vera smacked Nikolai’s horse on the rear, and it took off down the road: she made a point of ignoring her brother’s breathless pleas for them to do this together. “Fraldarius, you’re exhausted. In this condition, you’ll only be a detriment.” 

“I-”

“Retreat, _soldier_. That’s an order!” 

Irina stared at Vera, bit her lip, and nodded with a hiss. The girl mounted a nearby horse and rode off. 

A rapidly approaching dark knight was felled with an arrow to the eye; his comrade not far behind had his horse shot beneath him, the both of them crumpling to the ground in a mess of limbs. Bran loosed another two shots which found their marks, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold their enemies off indefinitely.

“Get to the Gautiers,” Vera leapt and used her spear to sever a great knight’s head. “Fenya’s waiting in the stable. She and Velvet can get you to safety.” 

“What about _you?_ ” Emilia sidestepped a fire blast before slicing an enemy cleanly in half. Like cockroaches, more and more Agarthans were crawling out of the proverbial woodwork. 

“We ain’t gonna leave you to fend for yourself!” Bran insisted. He nocked another arrow and hit an incoming warrior right in the throat. 

Meanwhile, the Gautier brothers were on their last legs. That was, until a myriad of knives impaled several of their opponents. Maura countered the assassin’s movements with her own agility and swiftly cleared a path through the horde of foes. She briefly glanced back at the redheads. “Run.” Then, she was spinning daggers and bleeding necks again. 

Iosif took Kliment’s arm, supporting the limping boy’s weight. “Aren’t you coming?” Maura didn’t respond. Instead, she shoved both of them away from the shed and threw down a smoke bomb. 

“Io-Iosif,” Kliment stuttered, the wear and tear of their abrupt battle quickly catching up with him. “W-We can’t leave her there.”

“We can’t die either.” 

Wide eyed, Kliment stopped in his tracks. “You’re suggesting we abandon her?!” he exclaimed.

Iosif gave Kliment a stern, empty look. “I’m suggesting we live to fight another day.” His tone brooked no argument, and he dragged his sibling toward the now-aflame stable. Staff and guests alike screamed, fleeing like chickens with their heads cut off. Despite Kliment clinging to his shoulder, Iosif weaved through the madness adeptly, dodging everyone escaping the blaze until he reached their destination—or what little remained of it. 

“Stay put,” Iosif slung his brother to the ground and raced toward the inferno only to find Velvet and Fenya hovering above the scene: the two creatures had likely abandoned ship at the first sign of trouble. “Over here!” He waved his arms to get their attention. When Fenya spotted him, she swooped to the ground with Velvet following her lead. Iosif directed the wyvern to Kliment and climbed aboard his newly owned pegasus. 

After cutting the legs of a war master out from underneath them, Emilia ran to Vera’s side. The princess was a beacon of level-headedness as she systematically felled her attackers without a second glance. Emilia actually felt somewhat proud; she could be reckless, but in the midst of chaos, Vera became a model leader. 

“You’ve done enough,” Emilia told her, “Let’s find the others and get the hell out of here!” 

Vera shook her head. “You and Bran have to find the others,” she ducked a sword slash and relieved her attacker of their left arm. “Someone has to hold them off.” 

“Don’t be an idiot!” Bran stabbed a myrmidon in the stomach with an arrow, wrenched it out, and bashed his opponent with an elbow to the temple. “You’re coming with us! There’s too much riding on you!”

“You’re right,” Vera admitted. “I’m the future queen. And a queen protects her people.” She noticed a large, black wing in the corner of her eye. “Kliment! Fenya!” Vera gripped Bran’s collar and eyed the distance between them and the wyvern. “ _Catch!_ ” All of Bran’s objections fell on deaf ears: she tossed the boy into the air where he found himself hooked by the claws on Fenya’s hind legs. 

“AGAIN? _REALLY_?!” he hollered as he was hauled away.

Emilia dodged away from Vera’s grasp. “You can’t expect us to go without you!” 

“I don’t,” Vera finally managed to take hold of her arms. “That’s why I’m not giving you a choice.” She hefted Emilia’s body into her arms. “Iosif!”

“Vera. Don’t.”

As soon as the black pegasus was in sight, Vera threw Emilia upward, and Iosif managed to catch her by the hand. He stared at Vera for a moment; she looked away from him, and they went their separate ways. 

“Need a hand, darling?” came a familiar impish voice. Sure enough, Maura leapt out from among the enemy ranks, bloodied knives in hand. “I hope you hadn’t decided to have all this fun without me!” With a flick of her wrist, yet another advancing Agarthan’s throat was slit. 

“Our definitions of fun are very different,” Vera rolled away from an incoming Thunder. “Where’s Geneva?” 

“Helping me elsewhere.”

“It really feels like she should be _here_.” 

“Oh ye of little faith,” Maura roundhouse kicked a brigand and back flipped onto the shoulders of a fortress knight. Her newly acquired vantage point let her loose knives at an even wider range. When the knight outwore his use, she slipped a blade through a gap in his armor and he collapsed in a heap. “Our chances,” Maura went from spirited to gravely serious. “aren’t good.” 

With a swift lunge, Vera skewered three enemies at once. “Do you have any better ideas?” She chucked a fallen soldier’s lance into the heart of a rampaging warhorse before caving a gremory’s face in with a single punch. 

Amidst the mayhem, a high-pitched cackling dang out, followed by a round of applause. Suddenly, their opponents ceased fighting and stood to attention. A warlock with a broken nose, swollen lips, and a gash on his thigh made his way through the crowd with an unnervingly amount of pep in his step. “Well, well, well! You two sure are a barrel of laughs.” 

“Ugh, you?” Maura groaned—she’d had more than enough of Callister to last a lifetime. “How in Seiros’ name did so many of you get here so fast?”

“You really have overestimated yourself, young’un,” Callister circled them. “Did you really believe all the information you gathered on us was due to the impeccable nature of your informants?” His tone turned a startling mix of playful and sinister. “It was all just part of one big game. Mind you, it’s been entertaining to play.” 

Maura actually paled at that. “What are you saying?” she demanded, “Speak clearly.”

“You only know as much as you do,” Callister leaned in closely, “because games are only fun when you’re playing against someone who stands a fraction of a chance. Did it ever occur to you that the Ailell caravan _might_ not be the only one we sent out?” 

Vera’s heart was in her stomach as the implications of the old man’s words hit her. “You- You couldn’t… We destroyed your laboratory…”

“Not before we had a group pay a visit to Aurik,” He beamed at Maura, who could only turn away. “I suspect the illness should be taking full effect any day now!” 

“ **_Bastard_ **!” Vera roared, charging the middle aged warlock like a mad bull. With surprising speed, Callister dodged and fired off a leisurely Hades—it was far too nonchalant given the spell’s immense power. Before she could process what had happened, Vera was standing inches away from what would definitely be her demise. However, the magic didn’t move any further: behind Callister, Maura had extended a hand, dark energy radiating from it. 

“Haven’t you learned your lesson,” Maura closed her fist with visible effort and the Hades faded, “about charging in blindly?” 

“Hehehe!” Callister giggled like an amused school girl. “I’ve been waiting to see you do something like that. Unfortunate that none of them,” he boredly motioned to his subordinates, “were motivating enough.” 

Maura stopped herself from questioning him: by now, it wasn’t surprising that Callister knew about her aptitude for dark magic. “So, what now? Are you going to kill us? If so, get it over with.” 

“Pft, who do you take me for? _Eris?_ ” He looked mildly offended by the implication. “You’ve proved far too interesting to simply slaughter.” The warlock faced Maura once more. “The pieces are set for our game to enter its second phase. I do look forward to seeing what strategies you prepare. For now, though,” he waved at some nearby assassins. “I think I’ll return the favor and make you _my_ prisoners.” 

___

Fenya and Velvet were quick to catch up with the others, but their reunion was far from pleasant. 

Nikolai had regained his ability to breathe without heaving quite some time ago; despite that, all of his breaths were still extremely shallow. “We,” he could barely think, let alone string words together. “She can’t…”

He frantically turned to the others for a sign that this wasn't actually happening, but they were all every bit as somber as he was. His breathing got steadily worse. Mathilda approached to offer some form of comfort, but ended up sitting beside him in silence: there was nothing she could say. Eventually, he stopped panting, and the light left his eyes. Nikolai pulled his rucksack into his lap, and rifled through it with no goal in mind. “She did,” was the last thing to leave his mouth for the rest of the day. 

Across the way, Bran fought to keep bile from rising in his throat; he should have been the one to stay behind. Vera was the one who deserved to be here, surrounded by her friends, with Nikolai at her side. Why the _fuck_ was he safe and sound instead? 

Iosif cleared his throat. “We can’t stay here. It’s too open. We need a place to lay low, and since Maura isn’t here either,” he hung his head. “There isn’t exactly an unlimited supply of safe houses.” 

“I know a place,” Irina said, monotone, “One we should have left for a long time ago.”

Emilia looked up from where she was sorting her supplies for the eighteenth time. “Then,” she looked to her sullen companions, “let’s get going.”

___

24th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

They were amidst the wee hours of the morning when distant, familiar towers split the horizon. The teens approach the monastery with equal parts relief and apprehension; they were to be the bearers of tragedy, and no one was eager to tell the archbishop that her daughter was missing. 

“Before we go in,” Iosif began, voice laden with tiredness, “we should be prepared to tell them everything: no details excluded. We’ll need more support for the rest of our endeavors.” He realized it was insensitive to focus on the future at a time like this, but the Agarthans were a threat that needed to be dealt with regardless of their losses. Nikolai said nothing. 

Irina nodded along absently. “I can do that,” she muttered. If cold, hard truths were called for, then she was the best suited to communicate them. Thinking back on the ambush, she couldn’t believe she had actually retreated. Even if she was out of spells and exhausted, there wasn’t any excuse for leaving the princess for dead. It was a total failure on her part—both as a combatant and a companion.

Kliment leaned on Fenya’s wing for support. “It’s strange being back here. I don’t think the moon has ended yet, but it feels as though it’s been a year.” 

Under better circumstances, Bran would have been nerve wracked to be in the presence of so many noble families. But all he felt was terrible guilt, and disgust for dwelling on himself when Nikolai was suffering far greater pain. 

Mathilda was able to walk straight for the first time since her brawl with Eris, but the weight of everything had her still feeling sluggish: she was utterly useless during the ambush, and she’d been too dreary to offer anyone comfort during the past days. 

“There’s no point in standing out here,” Emilia sighed, resigned, and pushed the cast iron gates open. “We’re only delaying the inevitable.” She turned and offered her friends the warmest expression she could muster. “It’s time.” 

___


	15. Finding A Path Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you move on after a tragic separation? With difficulty and distress.

24th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

As soon as guards spotted them, the kids were awkwardly shuffled into the Cardinal’s Room, where their parents were anxiously waiting. 

“RINA!” Annette immediately ran to embrace her daughter, happy tears streaming down her cheeks. “You nearly scared me to _death_!”

Irina wrapped her arms around Annette, burying her face in her hair: her mother wasn’t pale, and she didn’t appear to be on the verge of starving to death. That was more than enough to bring a smile to her face, even if she wasn’t a fan of prolonged hugs. 

Although she was still crying, Annette can’t keep the smile off her face. “I can’t believe you- I was so- I _missed_ you!” she squeezed her impossibly closer. 

“So… So did I, Mom.” 

Felix nodded in the background, satisfied; everything was as it should be. Irina nodded back at him, and allowed Annette to continue holding her. 

Mathilda awkwardly stepped over to Linhardt, an apologetic look on her still-bruised face. “Um, hi, Pop.”

“Long time, no see.” Linhardt’s tone was dry, but happy. 

“Sorry about the whole ‘running away again’ thing,” she mumbled, shuffling her feet. 

Linhardt tousled her hair. “You should worry about Caspar, dear, not me.” 

Said man burst into the room and promptly tackled his daughter. “YOU’RE GROUNDED FOR _LIFE_.” He wrapped her in a tight bear hug. “YOU SCARED ME, DAMNIT.” Close behind, a teary eyed Ashe hugged the both of them.

Meanwhile, Iosif and Kliment were being dragged across the room by their ears. Ingrid sat them down and huffed. “You are both _just like_ your father,” she was relieved to have them back, but they needed to be reprimanded, “block-headed, inconsiderate, reckless, foolhardy-”

“Yeah, we’re horrible,” Iosif gave her a crooked smile, “but did I mention that I’m a pegasus rider now?” 

“That doesn’t-” Ingrid paused. “Wait, _what?_ ”

Kliment sighed and eyed his brother enviously. “He never fails to surprise or impress.”

“...Well, wonderful as that is,” Ingrid forced herself to stay stern, “it doesn’t change the fact that I spent Goddess knows how long wondering just what the hell you two had gotten into. Don’t you have anything to say for yourselves?!” 

At that moment, Sylvain arrived. Iosif locked eyes with his father and amused expressions crept across both their faces.

“Screw you, old man.” 

“Truly a work of poetry, my good sir.” Sylvain patted him on the back. 

Iosif grinned. “I knew a man of your caliber would appreciate my work.” 

Kliment looked between them, his confusion heavily apparent. “What?”

Ingrid rubbed her temples and fought to keep the smile off her face. “Never mind that.” 

Beside them, Mercedes gleefully embraced Emilia, a delighted giggle escaping her. “I’m overjoyed that you’ve returned to us, dear!” 

“ _Please_ tell me Father doesn’t know about this.”

“Well, I _did_ write to him once you’d been gone for a few days. I suspect he’ll be returning fairly soon,” Mercedes’ pleasant smile grew wider as she clasped her daughter’s hands.

Emilia sighed, imagining the stoic lecture that would be awaiting her. “Joy.” 

Bran remained by the entrance, feeling wholly out of place. Seeing all the parents so happy to see their children made his mind wander back to Sauin. He hadn’t thought about how his family would react to his absence; they’d be down a hunter, sure, but… did they miss him? It wasn’t like he’d contributed much outside of his kills. If anything, Leonie would give him a firm sack upside the head before sending him off to bed. Not to mention, they now had one fewer stomach to feed. His disappearance wouldn’t mean much. More than likely. Probably. 

Nikolai slumped into a chair near the entrance and stared blankly at the far wall: his eyes were still devoid of any light. He didn’t seek out his mother; she would find him soon enough.

“I see you all decided to return.” The archbishop’s quiet yet firm voice was utterly unmistakable. She strode into the room and everyone was quick to show their respects. Her gaze immediately locked on to Nikolai: something was clearly wrong. Byleth scanned the room. 

“Hey, where’s Vera?” Caspar blurted. “She was with you last time. And that Vestra girl...” 

The others started at the name—they had almost forgotten Maura in their anguish over Vera. It laced the atmosphere with guilt: she had done so much for them only to be overlooked. 

The prince’s blood ran cold. He’d been putting off how he was going to explain all of this to Byleth. But now, in the dreaded moment, his mind still came up blank.

Byleth crouched beside her son and pressed a warm, calloused hand to his cheek. “Nikolai?” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 

“Mother,” he tried to speak, but his voice cracked as soon as he uttered a single word. “I-I,” how could he tell her that he’d left his sister to die? “Vera, sh-she’s-”

“We were ambushed.” Mercifully, Irina cut him off. “The princess… stayed behind to prevent our attackers from pursuing us.” 

Unbidden, overdue tears blurred Nikolai’s vision. He didn’t realize how hard he was crying until he felt his mother’s embrace. All he could bring himself to say was a breathy “I’m sorry,” over and over.

“Shh,” Byleth cradled him in her arms. “You have nothing to apologize for. Just because she stayed behind,” she felt her unbeating heart ache at the very thought that Vera wasn’t alive, “doesn’t mean we should start mourning.” 

“F-Father will-” he couldn’t finish that statement.

“Your Father will be upset with those who are at fault for this,” she assured. “He’ll be overjoyed to see _you_.” 

Nikolai wasn’t so sure about that, but refrained from saying so. For the moment, he allowed himself to be consumed by the sweet smell and warm embrace of his mother. All other noises faded away as Nikolai fell into a stress-induced sleep.

Mathilda hid her face in Linhardt’s tunic, just barely refraining from sobbing herself: she hadn’t even been awake when Vera threw her out of harm’s way. Emilia buried her head in her hands while Mercedes placed a comforting hand on her back. Kliment stared at the floor, and Iosif dug his nails into his palms. Irina mentally recounted the battle over one thousand times. Bran left the room, thoroughly ashamed.

___

“If you need me, I’ll be brainstorming a plan,” Maura muttered, her head pressed wearily between her knees. 

“I literally suggested something a minute ago!” Vera exclaimed.

“‘Let’s knock the guards out’ is not a plan. At best, it’s step one of one hundred.” 

“It won’t be long before they pack up camp and move us again. By the time _you_ come up with step twenty, we’ll be Goddess knows where.” Vera paced their temporary cell, her exhausted mind running through countless scenarios. 

“We need to create an opening for ourselves,” Maura dearly wished she had a spy among the enemy forces. “There are countless Agarthans out there: trying to force our way through will end in death.” 

Vera scratched her scalp. “Maybe we could… create some kind of distraction?”

“How? With what?” When Vera didn’t reply, Maura face-palmed. “Let’s try going over what we know about our current circumstances.” 

“It’s been… maybe two days,” Vera groaned, “we’re in a carriage-”

“And they haven’t killed us yet.” 

“Is that supposed to sound encouraging?” 

“I don’t care how it _sounds_ ,” Maura knocked her forehead irately against their wooden prison, “There’s a reason why we’re still alive. They aren’t keeping us among the living for information—they would have interrogated and tortured us by now.” 

Vera thought for a moment. “They _might_ try to use us to lure the others out of hiding.” 

“Possibly,” Maura conceded; then Callister’s words surged to the forefront of her mind. “That warlock—he called all of this a ‘game’. He said we were interesting.” She frowned. “If he hasn’t offed us because we’re of interest- could he _intend_ for us to eventually escape?” 

“Urg, I _hate_ these mind games,” Vera was ready to tear her hair out. 

“I’m _well_ aware,” Maura stood, smoothing her rumpled clothes while she pondered the mess they were in, “but we have to look at this the way he is. We have to get into his head.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a place I want to be- whoa what the _hell_?” Vera’s heart nearly stopped when she saw a pair of lavender eyes peering at them through an opening in the carriage. 

“Hey,” a dull, boyish voice chimed. 

Maura’s eyes narrowed. “Hey. Something you need?”

“Not really.” 

A pause.

“So,” Maura broke the awkward quiet, “what brings you to our humble abode?” 

“Mm, nothin’ really.”

Another pause. 

By now, Vera was getting annoyed. “Are you just going to keep staring at us?”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Maura placed her chin in her hands, “this should be fun. I do so love one-sided conversations!”

___

Nikolai never slept in; he disliked lethargy, and greeted every day with a productive mindset. However, his sleep had been so fitful, that he found himself waking well into the afternoon. It was strange to lay in a proper bed when he’d grown used to hard, uneven earth. The familiar scent of his room hit him hard as he regained consciousness. For several minutes, Nikolai watched dust motes float in the sunbeams shining through his window.

A calloused yet soft hand combed through his tangled hair, and a quiet, nostalgic melody filled the otherwise silent dorm. Byleth didn’t bother speaking: it would be best to let Nikolai decide if conversation was something he needed. She had questions and a mountain of concerns, but now wasn’t the time to burden him. The other children had already given her Vera’s last known location: a plethora of soldiers had been dispatched to scour the area. Her daughter had always been resourceful; until she heard otherwise, Byleth would believe that Vera was alive. For now, she had to focus on being there for her son. 

The familiar Nabatean ballad had been used to comfort the Blaiddyd siblings when they were small. Now, it only reminded Nikolai of his sister’s absence. Not knowing her fate was somehow more awful than if he’d been told outright. He couldn’t bring himself to agonize over possibilities; he had to say something to take his mind off of it.

“How long have you been here?” he croaked, voice wrecked from sobbing.

“Since I carried you to bed.” Byleth didn’t stop stroking his blonde locks. Her tone didn’t hold the regal finality of the queen archbishop; instead, it was unbearably tender. 

“I’m sorry to keep you up,” he fiddled with a loose thread in his comforter.

“I’m your mother,” was her simple reply. “I don’t mind things like this. I never will.” 

Of course, that made him think of how they ran off without a word. “I… We left because something had to be done,” he looked away. “There was no time for debate, only action.”

“I know,” Byleth cupped his cheek. “You went out and did what you felt you had to—I can respect that. However, I can’t say it was smart to charge at an opponent of this caliber.” She sighed. “On the other hand, your father and I shouldn’t have fallen into the complacency that can come with peace. And we should have told you.” It was obvious what she was referring to. 

“Why didn’t you?” Nikolai reached out and squeezed her hand. “Please, Mother.”

She squeezed back. “There’s no excuse for leaving you to find out on your own: we should have been upfront. I… suppose I always felt it was Dimitri’s decision to make—whether or not to divulge his past mistakes. That line of thinking was clearly flawed; I should have pushed him to tell you. I’m sorry for keeping secrets all these years.” 

Nikolai chewed his lip. “Vera is convinced that she’ll turn out a monster.” He shook his head tiredly, the memory of the night he told her everything coming to mind. “I tried to talk sense into her, but she saw our mission as the only way to become her own person.”

Byleth fell silent for a moment before reaching a conclusion. “There’s only one person who will be able to convince her otherwise,” she brushed her thumb over Nikolai’s knuckles, “and he’s likely the person she wants to see the least.” 

“Why did he have to do it?” Nikolai blurted, immediately regretting the question. “Why did he… _hurt_ so many of his friends?” The battlefield nightmare would probably haunt him for the rest of his days. “What happened to Father?”

“He’s spent his life being haunted by everyone who died in the Tragedy. When I awoke after five years in the midst of the war, his heart was only beating for those who were long dead,” Byleth felt her mind growing distant, falling into the past, “and he told us it was his intention to use us until the flesh fell from our bones. After every battle he would roam the chapel communing with the spirits who tormented him, promising to kill until they could rest in peace.” Her voice turned cold. “And we marched blindly behind our king.”

“And… And all the classmates he-?” Nikolai swallowed, unable to finish.

Her answer was cutting. “I doubt he recognized any of them when we fought.” 

“Does that make it any better?” he whispered, tone cynical.

“No,” her eyes narrowed at the memories. “It makes it far, far worse.” 

In his frustration, Nikolai asked his mother the burning question: “Why did you _marry_ him? After what he did… to your students, his friends, the country-” he cut himself off before he broke into a full-fledged rant. “How could you stay with him?”

Recollections of a nervous blonde boy approaching her with a smirking brunette lingering not far behind filled her mind. Having tea while trying to talk a schemer out of manufacturing another poison, helping a survivor with his technique while sparring, grading papers and smiling at tucked away notes… Then being ripped away and waking up to two fewer hands to hold: one too blood soaked to grip anything without decimating it, and one having been pushed too far to reach. And when the dust settled, it just wasn’t possible to go back to three. So, she made a choice. Frankly, she chose the man she thought needed her more. 

“I love-” _them_ , “him. The man I fell for, the one I pledged myself to on the altar, is distinctly different from the one who descended into madness for five years.” 

His jaw tensed, but Nikolai kept his biting words to himself.

“I’m aware,” Byleth shook her head, “that they’re the same person. What I mean is… He was still the Dimitri from the Academy even behind all that darkness. I wanted to guide him onto a path of atonement for his errs. Whether or not he’s atoned isn’t up to me. And, in spite of everything, I _do_ love him. I won’t say it’s entirely rational, but I do.” 

It was the best answer he was going to get. Nikolai bit the inside of his cheek, the pain grounding as tears threatened to fall. In some indescribable way, he felt wrong—like he didn’t deserve the life that he was born into. Fódlan was built on lies and murder and betrayal; now that he knew the truth, Nikolai wasn’t sure he could ever live with it. He clenched the sheets, pulling them up and concealing himself in a cotton cocoon.

Byleth stood and walked to the door. “I’m going to write your father about Vera; he’s closer to where she was last seen so he can have search parties there faster.”

“Can…” Nikolai trembled, “Can we wait on that? Please? I don’t-” Don’t want to face Father’s wrath; that was more fuel for his nightmares. 

She looked at him, her expression saddened. “You’re his children. He loves you.” 

“P-Please?”

“... I suppose we can wait to see if she turns up.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And, Nikolai? This isn’t something you ever have to accept.” She left. 

“That… doesn’t make it any more bearable,” his voice cracked, and he buried himself in a pillow. The fabric dampened beneath his face.

___

No matter the season, Faerghus nights were bone-chillingly cold. They were the type of freezing that you could feel in your nostrils and inside of your trousers, that subconsciously made you curl inward. For centuries, outsiders were baffled as to how anyone could withstand such awful conditions. But any true native of the Kingdom would say that the frigid air was a point of national pride; it (supposedly) turned boys into knights, and women into shield-maidens. 

Dedue had always hated it. His mitten-clad fingers fumbled with the letter his wife had written him weeks prior: 

_My Dearest Dedue,_

_I wish you all the health and happiness in this world! Are reconstruction efforts going well? I pray the school you discussed can open its doors soon. Just imagine all the eager minds piling into classrooms for knowledge’s sake—it’s enough to warm the heart even on the coldest of winter days. I certainly hope Emilia can accompany you one of these days. Speaking of our darling daughter, she’s been missing for quite a few days: she left to assist her friends, who ran away around the 8th of Guardian Moon. It’s sent everyone at the monastery into quite the tiff. I’m concerned of course, but I can’t help feeling that it’s a good thing she’s with them. Her wit may keep them from doing anything terribly reckless. I love you and look forward to your return._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Beloved Mercedes_

Though glad to do his duty, this seemed to be a recurring problem: he’d leave Dimitri and then everything would go wrong. And now his daughter was caught up in the madness too—all the more reason to ride to Fhirdiad with all speed. Before returning to Garreg Mach, he had to speak with Dimitri about this; it was one of the few instances in Dedue’s life where he did not have the patience to write a letter. Why were their children running off on damn fool’s adventures?

When he arrived at the palace gates, the guards had no trouble clearing the way for him: strange as it was for a man of Duscur to have become a regular presence in the castle, there was no question about his importance to the king. He knocked on the door to his office, and pushed open the door without waiting for a response. 

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty, but _what is going on_?” 

Dimitri had seen better days—and that spoke to the severity of the situation. His hair was wilder than usual, his eye was ringed with black, and golden scruff dusted his cheeks. The king was hunched over his desk, and he looked ready to collapse onto his paperwork at any moment.

“I wish I knew, my friend,” he smiled ruefully. “I can only speak to what caused this.” 

“I have a general idea,” Dedue sighed and took his familiar place at Dimitri’s side, “but I’d sincerely like to hope I’m wrong. Does their departure have anything to do with those ‘Agarthans’ we investigated after the war?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, or rather bobbed his head sleepily. “My only guess is that our children wish to find answers to the questions we never bothered to ask.”

“I see… There have been whispers amongst the people of Duscur about the true nature of those who instigated the Tragedy. According to the letter Mercedes sent me, these rumors started around the same time they ran off.” 

Dedue noticed the way Dimitri’s fingers crumpled the parchment before him, like the claws of a menacing cat digging into its prey. “Do you…” he smoothed his documents out, “Is there any indication of where these suspicions originated?”

“I’ve no way of being certain. Talk of suspicious characters hidden beneath the earth is all I’ve had to go on. The term Agarthan came up only once, but… I can’t help thinking they’re connected in some way,” Dedue saw Dimitri’s jaw clench. “I don’t mean to trouble you with baseless suspicions.” 

“No, no,” he waved, “Thank you for telling me.” Dimitri messaged his troubled brow. “How did word get all the way to Duscur?” he murmured.

“There are those who have,” Dedue winced a tad, “dedicated themselves to observing any strange occurrences in the Kingdom.” Dimitri quirked an eyebrow. “Some have trouble believing that relations are truly as amiable as they appear to be.”

“Right now, our top priority must be recovering our children.” He spoke with conviction despite being thoroughly exhausted. “They will not die attempting to right our wrongs.” 

“Have you received news of their whereabouts?” 

With a weary sigh, Dimitri rested his head in his hands. “They were sighted in an Adrestian village, but we lost them again shortly after.” He looked away, lost in his anxious thoughts. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Dedue.”

“Do not trouble yourself. I’m simply having trouble coming to terms with this level of rashness from Emilia. Following Their Highnesses into peril without irresolution… it sounds like something _I_ would have done at her age. And she _detests_ being compared to me.” 

“Hah, I know the feeling,” Dimitri forced himself upright and offered Dedue a half-smile. “What do you intend to do now?”

“I’m going to Garreg Mach.” Dedue headed back to the doorway. “I’d like to see for myself how the search is going on their end.” He bowed and dallied for a moment. “Please, try to get some rest, Your Majesty. You’re no good to us like this.” Old habits would always die hard. 

“I’ll _try_ , but I can’t make any promises.”

___


	16. Trying to Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coping with kidnapping and trauma.

25th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202 

—???—

“How about… um, knocking out the floorboards?”

“Do you think they’re deaf or something?”

“Okay, then… knocking the carriage over?”

“What good would _that_ do?”

“Urgh, maybe the sick cellmate routine?”

“What makes you think they’d give a damn?”

There was a loud, dramatic sigh followed by a knock on the side of the carriage. “Are you two gonna keep this up forever? Because I don’t think it’s getting you anywhere.”

“Do _you_ have an idea?!” Vera whisper-shouted. She and Maura had been debating an escape route well into the earliest hours of the morning. By now, she had exhausted all her best plans. 

Maura furrowed her brows. They were speaking as quietly as possible—how had whoever was out there heard them? “Your hearing is impeccable.” 

“Unfortunately,” the voice muttered. “I wonder why he even brought me along…” 

“Who're you talking about?” Vera rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“The big shot who brought you in,” his tone turned irate. “Cal.” 

“Cal… You mean Callister?” Maura perked up.

“What do you think?” Their sarcasm was dripping. Had she been less tired, Maura would have chuckled. 

“And you’re his… what? Retainer? Apprentice?”

“Putting it nicely: indentured servant. Not-so-nicely: slave.” 

“I-I’m sorry?” Vera’s tone was steeped in disgust. “You’re someone’s _property_?!”

“Would you keep your voice down?” they grumbled. “It’s too early to yell.”

“Slavery is outlawed! How can you sound so… unenthused?!”

“Darling,” Maura began, “do you mean to tell me kidnapping is _legal_? I really don’t think these people care for your laws.” 

“I,” Vera took a loud, deep breath, “I need to punch something now.” Her fists clenched to the point of shaking. 

“I doubt that’ll get you very far,” the voice told her. “You should probably get some rest. If not for your sake, for mine—your bickering kept me up all night.”

“You may not have noticed, but we’re trying to get _out of here_. So sorry if our desire to live through this interferes with your naptime.”

“And how’s the whole getting out thing coming along?” 

“...” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

“Have you decided to talk us to death?” Maura drawled. “You wouldn’t say much of anything yesterday.” 

“Eh. Guess I’m feeling conversational today.” 

Vera spoke up again. “I don’t understand how you can be so _calm_ when you’ve been _enslaved_.”

“Are you still hung up on that?”

“What do you mean, ‘hung up’?! It’s horrible!” 

“Eh. That’s just how it is sometimes.”

“‘Sometimes’ is your _life_!” Vera was damn near ready to pull her hair out.

“Vera,” Maura massaged her head, “you’re giving _me_ a headache now.”

“Don’t tell me you’re okay with this?!” the princess rounded on her.

Maura’s face turned utterly blank. “I've spent a good portion of my life helping unfortunate workers get back at the oafs controlling their lives. What do _you_ think, Your Highness?”

“Well,” their reluctant companion cut in before Vera could respond, “those are some interesting professions you’ve got there.” 

“ _Bakari!_ ”

“Oh sweet moon,” the person by the carriage jerked, “give me strength.”

“I’ve been scouring the camp for you!” That was, without a doubt, Callister’s obnoxiously jovial voice. “I was worried you’d keeled over or something-”

“Cal. Just tell me what you want. Please.”

“Fetch our guests some breakfast. And no swiping for yourself.” Vera and Maura could picture the warlock wagging his finger patronizingly. 

“By fetch, you mean…”

“Hehehehe!” 

An actual snarl was heard. “ _You_ -” For one, terse second, the girls thought the air would fill with the sound of Callister’s shrieks. Instead, the boy apparently named Bakari groaned. “What do you want me to bring back?” 

“Hmm. We haven’t had bear in a while, so one of those.” 

“Whatever.” The fading crunch of footsteps on gravel told them that they were now alone with Callister.

“I have to hand it to you,” Maura began, “you’re more mundane than I thought. I mean, _slavery_ of all things?”

An affronted gasp was his reply. “It wasn’t my idea—he got dumped on me. And, I’ll have you know that there are far worse masters he could’ve ended up with.” 

“When you put it like that,” Maura stifled a yawn, “you sound halfway decent.”

“Well, not everything I do is an obscenity in the eyes of Sothis. If I tried to be _all_ evil _all_ the time, I’d become predictable. That’s much more horrible than occasional kindness.” 

Vera looked nauseated. “Goddess, you are a sick son of a bitch, you know that?” she yelled. “There’s a special place in hell reserved for monsters like you!”

“Your point being…?” He actually waited a few moments for some sort of elaboration. Vera said nothing. “There are monsters everywhere. Some are simply less upfront about it. Personally, I think lying about your proclivities is even more underhanded.” 

About to lose her temper, Vera could only fume and pace the length of their prison. Maura watched in mild amusement as she wore a groove into the floor. “Your transparency is truly something else,” she told him. “I’m honestly going to regret killing you later.” 

“How touching!” 

“Commander!” A soldier approached Callister. “There’s a matter that demands your attention.”

“On a scale of Eskandar to Sinthia, how important is this really?” 

“Er… Minerva, I suppose?”

“Urgh. Fine. Lead the way.” 

Once he was gone, Vera cast Maura an irritated frown. “While I’m glad that you’ve found a new best friend, we should be trying to figure a way out of here.”

Maura heaved a dramatic sigh. “Do you think I’m talking to him for the good of my health? He’s the one keeping us here.” 

“Yeah? And how’s your silvertongue-scheme going so far? Making progress?”

“ _Yes_ , actually. For the time being, I’m going to get some sleep.” Just like that, she turned onto her side and shut her eyes. “I suggest you do the same.”

Rolling her eyes, Vera spent the next half hour testing the give of the walls and floor.

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

“C’moooooon, Lin!” Caspar relentlessly prodded his husband’s side. “Ya know you wanna.”

Linhardt’s face remained entirely blank. “Do I, Caspar? Do I _really_?” 

Ashe beamed. “Who better to help teach the new generation? Not to mention, you could keep an eye on Mattie while you’re here.” 

The three were standing outside the Audience Chamber: Caspar and Ashe had to keep hold of their partner to prevent him from either walking away or slumping to the floor. 

“There’s no guarantee Byleth will say yes.” 

“Babe, she _loves_ you. Why the hell _wouldn’t_ she take you on?” Caspar was hopping before him like a child on a sugar high. 

“DAMMIT, ANNETTE.”

“GODDESS-DAMMIT, MOM!”

“YOU CAN’T STOP ME FROM APPLYING!”

Abruptly, the Fraldarius family charged into the hallway, Felix and Irina hot on Annette’s heels. The Bergliez-Hevrings could only blink at the scene. A series of thuds indicated that Annette had tripped over something.

“Ugh- Who put this barrel here?!”

“Mother, are you alright?!” 

“Oh Goddess, why,” Linhardt’s head drooped. As usual, he took the path of least resistance and surrendered himself to the incoming madness. 

“Linhardt!” a very disheveled Annette called out as she approached. “You’re thinking of teaching here right? Of course you are! That’s why you’ll need _me_ as your TA!” She seized his arm in an iron grip and literally dragged him off.

Linhardt made no effort to resist her tugging. “Aren’t you already a professor at the Royal School of Sorcery?” 

“I’m _switching_.” 

“That’s allowed?”

“I’ll mail my resignation.” 

Irina marched after them, exuding a stern, parental aura. “Mom, you live in northern Fódlan. _How_ do you expect to make it home on a regular basis?” 

“Obviously, I’ll just live _here_.” 

“Yes, don’t ask your life partner how he feels about this,” Felix deadpanned, having slowed to a brisk walk.

Annette halted her advance. “Ooooooooh yeeeeeah.” She released Linhardt and turned to her husband with an apologetic look. “How _do_ you feel about this, love of my life?” 

“Ugh. Honestly… you’re what keeps me sane.” Felix pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “But, if this makes you happy, then,” he offered Irina a reluctant shrug, “go ahead and do it.”

Annette sniffled and tackled Felix in an all-consuming hug, placing kisses all over his face. “How am I supposed to leave you after _that_ , Fe?” 

All present bore witness to the exceptionally rare sight of Felix Hugo Frauldarius blushing. “Maybe you can make your position here temporary.” 

The ginger squealed and leapt onto his arms so he had no choice but to carry her. Rather than turning up her nose at the display, Irina _smiled_ with what could only be genuine joy. She approached the couple and brushed a strand of jumbled hair out of her mother’s face. 

“Please, don’t stress yourself solely looking out for me.”

“I make no promises, sweetheart!” Annette chirped. 

“Does this mean I can go back to sleep?” Linhardt questioned. 

“Nope!” Annette jumped out of Felix’ arms, gave him a quick peck, and grabbed Linhardt once again. “C’mon, lazybones! We’re going to have a chat with the Profes- _Archbishop_!”

Inside the Audience Chamber, Byleth appeared highly entertained by Annette’s prevailing enthusiasm. Seteth rubbed his temples and didn’t bother addressing the disturbance she’d caused. 

“I believe you wish to apply for a teaching position?” 

___

“Are you… _sure_ about this, Pop?” 

“No, but it seems I’ve no choice in the matter.” Linhardt yawned and patted Mathilda’s head. “Hopefully Annette will do all the important work.”

“Even if it’s only temporary, I can’t believe Aunt Annie will be here too. I wonder how Rina’s taking this.” 

“Surprisingly well,” Ashe remarked. “She’s probably relieved that she can keep a closer eye on her.”

“Well,” Mathilda slid off her bed and gathered her things. “I’m gonna hit the training grounds again.” 

“So soon?” Ashe rushed to her side. “You’ve only just arrived! A-And you should let your body recuperate and...” he trailed off, biting his lip and staring at her with those sad minty eyes of his.

“I guess,” She wrung her hands. “I don’t feel right sitting around, not doing anything. You know?” Mathilda reached for her overcoat, only to once again be reminded that it was gone. Before, she could handle it. Now, after everything, the familiar realization made her throat close up. 

“Mattie?” Caspar’s voice sounded distant amongst her depressed thoughts. “You sure you’re alright?”

She was helpless under the flurry of fists bashing into her over and over, helpless to save Vera when they were being overrun, helpless to protect her parents when they were being murdered. The livid, monstrous face of her attacker pummeled her again and again and again- Mathilda slapped herself. 

“I-I need to go train for a while. I’ll be back in an hour or two.” She was unsteady on her way to the door, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when her knees gave out. 

Ashe caught her and hugged her close. “Please,” he whispered, “let us help you.” He kissed her head. “You don’t have to tell us anything, but please, Mathilda.”

“There was…” Her mind was too muddled for complete coherency. “I lost. I tried but he just kept hitting me. I couldn’t do anything- couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Now _she’s_ gone and I- _I’m so useless_.” 

“Who’re you talking about,” Caspar’s tone was grim. His knuckles cracked ominously as he clenched his fists. “Who did this?” The ‘so I can kill them’ was implicitly stated.

“E-” When she so much as thought his name, that same bloodied figure rammed against her abdomen. “E-Er-Eris.” It hurt to say. 

Her father nodded once. “Gotcha.”

Ashe sent his husband a frustrated look. “Mathilda, you are the _farthest_ from useless a person can get. Don’t talk about yourself like that.” He rested his forehead against her own. “Now, can I get you anything?”

“I w-want to sleep.” 

Linhardt sat beside her; while Ashe took hold of Mathilda’s hands, he hugged her close by the shoulders. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Come on.” Linhardt guided her down onto the bedspread, and Ashe snuggled in on her opposite side. Despite the awkward position, Caspar blanketed himself over the three of them.

Mathilda shut her eyes and curled into the warmth of her fathers. For now, it was enough. 

___

“Sloppy.” Felix looked down on his dust-covered daughter, sprawled on the ground. “Again.”

Irina shoved herself into a standing position and brandished her practice sword. She jumped up and brought the weapon down for an overhead strike. Felix casually defected the attack and, with a kick to the stomach, knocked her back to the ground.

“Predictable.” He idly twirled his wooden blade.

“Predict _this_ ,” she hissed. Irina feigned another charge, and hooked his sword when he tried to parry: she knocked both their weapons away and tried to sweep his legs out from under him. 

Felix sidestepped the attempt and elbowed her in the chest. When she staggered backward, he retrieved his sword and struck her across her forehead. “Maybe _avoid_ announcing your next attack?”

“Ugh, I can’t concentrate!” she snapped—seemingly at herself. “Am I really _this_ vulnerable without magic?” It had been on her mind since the ambush. 

“Apparently,” her father quirked his brow in challenge.

“Then,” Irina stood once more, not hesitating to meet his taunt, “I’ll get better _without_ it.” She snatched her own blade back. That was her only option: if over-reliance on magic was hindering her it was a clear weakness, and weaknesses only existed to be exploited or eliminated. 

“That,” Felix circled her like a predator, fierce eyes unwavering, “is a lofty goal.” Without telegraphing his movements, he lunged at her. His practice weapon brushed her side, but Irina managed to evade rather cleanly. 

“It’s attainable,” Irina remarked. Again, she backed away and waited for him to advance. “What good is a combatant with such a glaring flaw? I needed to correct this at some point.” 

Annette glanced between her two family members from her place on the sidelines. “Uh, Rina?” she tried, “is there anything you want to _talk_ about?” 

“Like what?” Irina snarled as she ducked a horizontal slash.

“Oh, you know, life in general. How have you been feeling since you came back?” 

“ _Fine._ ” She grunted and nearly collapsed when Felix jabbed the pommel of his sword into her already-sore abdomen. “Just. Fine.”

“Are you _totally_ sure?” Annette had a feeling that her words were flying right over Irina’s head, but she had to try. “Hey, Felix? Maybe you two could take a break.” 

“She can take it,” he replied thoughtlessly.

“I can take it,” Irina said simultaneously. She attacked her father with an upward swing, but he blocked before her sword made it above his waist. Unflinching, Felix punched her in the face.

Annette, on the other hand, did flinch. She knew Felix would never seriously injure Irina, but in moments like these, the intensity of their training seemed unnervingly harsh. Irina recovered with relative ease and returned the favor by aiming a kick at Felix’s jaw. He blocked it, but she took advantage of the opening and thrust her blade into his side. 

“Passable,” he allowed, “but you can do better.” He backed away and resumed his stance. “Again.”

“I’m going to make tea. Do you guys want tea? I’ll make tea.” Annette shuffled out of the room, running her fingers through her already tangled hair. “If only they would use _words_ ,” she mumbled. 

“I know the feeling.” From around the corner walked an equally tired Ingrid; she offered Annette an rueful smile. “Iosif won’t tell me anything either.”

Annette jumped at the sudden presence and nearly slammed into a wall. “Oh- Ingrid,” she cleared her throat. “It’s… saddening, isn’t it?” 

“That’s certainly one word for it.” The blonde dropped an arm over her friend’s shoulder. “I would go with a pain in the ass.” 

“That’s probably a more accurate description.” The ginger sighed. “At least Kliment talks to you.” 

“More than Iosif,” Ingrid wore a worried frown, “But something happened while they were away. A specific event that, for some reason, they don’t think we’ll be able to handle.” She shook her head dejectedly. “Do our children really think so little of us?”

“I’d like to _hope_ not,” Annette leaned against her taller companion. “but they did run off to fight an enemy _we_ should have dealt with. The implications of that aren’t exactly great.” 

With a heartfelt groan, Ingrid offered Annette a weary smirk. “Did you say something about tea? I could go for a glass of chamomile right about now.”

“I’m glad you’re here then, because I’m still an atrocious brewer.” The duo made their way to the kitchen just as Emilia began heading to the training grounds. 

___

The blood orange sun had begun to sink below horizon when Felix finally decided to drop his sword. Disgust marred his features as he dusted himself off. “I have… important work that can’t be put off any longer,” he muttered, “Break for today. I’ll expect you here by the same time tomorrow.” Without waiting for Irina’s response, he turned on his heel and left his daughter to her own devices.

Irina made herself stand upright even though he was already walking off. “Yes, Sir.” She waited until he was completely gone to lift her sword again—this time her opponent was a sparring dummy. 

“Okay!” Now was a good time for Annette to directly intervene. “You need to go to bed.”

“In an hour. Or four.” 

“It’s been _several_ hours.” 

“Time flies when you’re doing hard work.”

“That is not how that saying goes.”

“ _Enough_.” Emilia marched across the training hall, slapped Irina’s blade away and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “You’ve done _enough_ for one day.” She tossed the protesting girl over her shoulder. 

“Unhand me!” Irina pounded her fists against Emilia’s back, arms, and fingers.

“No.” 

Annette barely managed to hold in her laughter; the amusement of watching her daughter being manhandled was offset by the relief that Emilia would keep her away from weaponry.

Once Emilia had forced Irina to bathe and settle into bed, she was off to find the rest of her friends. Nikolai hadn’t left his room all day, but she’d brought him breakfast, lunch, and dinner and found empty plates outside his door. Mathilda was lounging with her fathers last she checked. The Gautier brothers were practicing their flying, so she’d have to ensure they didn’t overdo it. Bran was Goddess knew where. Vera- _wasn’t here_.

She ground her teeth as she made for the stables. What in flaming Ailell had Vera been thinking? No, she hadn’t been thinking—Emilia should have been asking _herself_ that question. Instead of sedating her and dragging everyone back home, she’d let Vera play out her martyr fantasy. It infuriated her to no end; how could she have been so _compliant_? Emilia vowed to beat the living daylights out of the bullheaded princess if she ever saw her again. And then tend to any bruises or fractures. But first, there would be wrath.

Emilia was so caught up in her own mind that she arrived at her destination without realizing. Only when she ran into the rear of a stationary stallion and heard the Gautiers’ obnoxious chortling did she return to her senses. 

“You two. Bed, baths, or dining hall. _Now_.” 

“We were just about to head to dinner!” Iosif chimed. He’d had the same, insincere grin plastered on his face since their arrival; she’d have to address that later. 

“Go on, then, get!” she snapped her fingers and pointed.

“Have _you_ eaten yet, Emmy?” Kliment asked. He looked stressed, and kept sneaking glances at his brother. Kliment, at least, might be willing to actually share his thoughts later down the line. 

“I ate early. Off with you.” 

“Okay, okay!” The boys hurried off, and Emilia set her sights on the infirmary: she’d see if any patients or physicians needed assistance, and then turn in for the day. Tomorrow, she would track down Bran. 

___

Maura bit her lip, drawing a good amount of blood as a heated rod slammed into her back for the umpteenth time. By now, she’d acclimated to the nauseating stench of burnt flesh that encompassed her. This wasn’t her first experience with torture and, given her life’s work, it likely wouldn’t be her last. In a case where it wasn’t possible to actively gain the upper hand, she could only minimize her reaction and listen for any information that might fall loose. 

Vera wasn’t faring quite as well; not as badly as she had expected, but the princess was clearly hanging on by a thread. If Callister hadn’t drugged her, Vera would be smacking the Agarthans across Fódlan. Instead, she roared and squirmed as her captors burned her over and over. 

After an hour, Callister gave a nonplussed wave to signal the torturers to stop. He walked by Vera, ignored her vehement curses, and crouched in front of Maura. “I suppose I neglected to tell you why I’m doing this.” He used a wet cloth to wipe the sweat off her forehead. “Care to venture a guess?” 

A strained grin spread across Maura’s face as she raised her head in defiance. “You want us to try harder,” she panted. “You want us to make it more _fun_.”

He patted her head before having an underling undo her bindings and clean her wounds. “Take this one back,” he ordered, satisfied with the soldier’s work.

The blissful effects of the vulnerary paste had Maura slipping in and out of consciousness. All she could comprehend as she was hauled back to the carriage was: ‘For Sothis’ sake, Vera, don’t be stupid. Just give him what he wants. I’ve already figured it out.’

Nearby, from a small gap in the walls of the torment chamber, Bakari had seen everything. He didn’t know why he was keeping tabs on those two—maybe he wanted people to talk to that he didn’t utterly detest. Regardless, seeing them brutalized made his skin crawl. No matter what he claimed, Cal had never once been kind. “Why do you care?” he grumbled, pulling away from the horrid sight. “It’s not your problem.” Even if he developed a strange urge to assist them, the metal collar digging into his neck wouldn’t have let him be of much use. He was trapped here, and now, so were they. Eventually, they’d die, or they’d adjust. He’d done the latter: for their own well-being, he hoped those girls did the same. 

___


	17. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not acknowledging something won’t make it go away.

26th of Guardian Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

All his life, books had been Kliment’s safe haven. In the world of fiction, every problem had a solution: rescuing damsels, defeating a nemesis, slaying a beast, and so on. Kliment could easily lose himself in their classical plots whenever he needed to escape from the pain of reality. Lately, however, his usual methods of distraction failed him. Day and night, he was haunted by the sight of Iosif, covered in blood and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

“Hey! You with me, Klem?” Iosif waved a hand in front of Kliment’s face, eventually clapping to gain his attention. Kliment jerked at the sudden noise, and Iosif raised an eyebrow. “Early practice was _your_ idea.” He smiled slyly. “I really hope this isn’t another attempt to turn me into a morning person. You _know_ how much I hate seeing the sunrise.” 

“Mm,” Kliment scratched Fenya’s neck, to which she responded with a hissing purr. He mounted her and wrapped the reins around his fingers until his skin turned a blotchy red. “Let’s go, then,” he said, almost monotone. Without waiting, Fenya took to the air, leaving Kliment to his thoughts once again.

It was only a matter of seconds before Velvet was soaring beside them. “It’s nice to see that your leg’s completely healed,” Iosif noted. He pulled Velvet a bit further ahead and had the pegasus dip into the barrel roll Kliment had shown him the other day. “Not too bad, huh?” 

“Excellent, as usual,” Kliment told him, unenthused. He meant what he’d said; despite how proud Mother was that he wanted to be a knight, Iosif had always been the perfect son. No matter the circumstance, his brother never failed to impress their parents. Kliment had gone through a jealous phase when he was little, but the regular attempts on Iosif’s life quickly dulled his feelings. Now, it had become a resigned, perpetual state of envy; he wished he could excel like his brother, and hoped to one day match him—however unlikely that was. 

“You falling asleep back there?” Iosif called, a chuckle in his tone. “I must have flown twenty blocks ahead of you. Fenya will barely get any exercise at this rate!” Velvet circled back around so he was right next to Kliment. “Something on your mind?” In that moment, the easygoing smile that Iosif bore shifted and twisted in Kliment’s mind until it was replaced with the sadistic smirk he’d worn inside that shed. Kliment blinked away the unsettling image and was met with his brother giving him a quizzical stare. Was there a chance that he was misremembering things? 

“Oi, there’s Mom!” Ecstatic, Iosif pointed below to the marketplace. Sure enough, Ingrid watched them from the steps leading to the Entrance Hall. She was beaming at Iosif—with his charm, nobody could stay mad at him for long.

Seeing Ingrid only reminded Kliment of her attempts at approaching both of them yesterday. He hadn’t known what to say, or if it was even his place to divulge what had happened at all. Maybe he would involve her after talking to Iosif on his own. 

They were flying above the Fishing Pond when Kliment heard a girlish yelp beside him. He turned just in time to see Velvet practically sneering as he bucked Iosif into the water below. The black pegasus let out a whinny-laugh, and Kliment couldn’t help joining in as Fenya glided to the ground.

“Funny,” Iosif waded through the water and started the arduous process of wringing out his uniform. “You’re a funny horse, Velvet. Seriously, you crack me up.” Despite his soaked state, his tone was drier than sand. He pushed his fingers through his sopping red locks, pulling at stray strands that were clinging to his face. When he turned his gaze to Kliment, he was a tad more genuine. “This is the happiest you’ve looked all morning! Not sure how I should feel about that.” 

“It’s… been a rough couple of days.” Kliment wound the reins tighter around his hand. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, that’s not surprising. Everything kind of sucks right now.” Iosif took a seat on the ground, making sure he stayed in the sunlight so he would dry. “Want to talk about it?” 

Yes, he very much wanted to talk about his recent nightmares of Iosif gleefully doing Sothis knew what to that man. “It’s not important,” Kliment stared into the pond—were there that many herrings when they’d left, or had they been breeding like rabbits? 

“Klem, if it wasn’t worthwhile, you wouldn’t be so distracted,” Iosif concluded flatly, “but I won’t push. If you ever decide it _is_ important, I’ll be here.” 

_Practice what you preach_. Kliment bit his tongue and nodded along; he put on his best happy face and turned Fenya toward the stables. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he said before taking off.

Iosif shook his head. “He has the least convincing fake smile I’ve ever seen.” Velvet huffed at him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m a hypocrite. I get it.” 

___

Bran may have hated flying, but heights themselves had never scared him. The edge of the roof called to him like a siren’s song. Looking over the shingles to the distant Officers Academy below, he idly entertained the idea of what it would be like to fall from here. It wouldn’t be _wholly_ unpleasant, he concluded; it might be exciting, actually.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” Emilia managed not to shout when she seemingly manifested behind Bran, but she sounded extremely unpleased. The boy jumped at her voice. “No one’s seen you in the dining hall. Have you been skipping meals?” 

“ _Damnit_ , woman! You coulda killed me!” He grasped his jackrabbiting heart with a trembling hand. “And, _no_ I ain't been skipping anything. I just prefer to eat alone.” Bran laid down and closed his eyes. “That is where I’ve been, what I’ve been up to: thinking.”

“What was served for dinner last night?” 

The archer smiled; he was prepared for this. “Pheasant roast with berry sauce.” He made an exaggerated chef’s kiss. “The night before that was meat pies. Gotta say, never eaten so well before.”

Emilia loomed over him with an eerie smile. “Do I look stupid to you?” 

“Far from it.” Bran opened his eyes and furrowed his brow. “What’s the deal?”

Without warning, she grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him up, revealing his shallow stomach in the process. “ _This_ is the deal.” 

“B-Bad touch!” he shouted, flailing in her grasp. “Lemme go!”

“You really think Nikolai didn’t mention your _tendencies_ to the only other healer on the team?” 

“I swear to shit I’ll scream. I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re a-assaulting me.”

“Bran,” she dropped him and he thudded to the roof. “I don’t know why you’re not eating, and right now I don’t really care, but you’re going to _start_. Do you understand me?” 

“R-Right, gotcha.” 

“Because if you don’t, I will drag you to the sick ward and shove a feeding tube down your throat. _Understand_?” 

“Believe me, I do.” And then, with the agility of a monkey, Bran somersaulted down the roof’s incline, grabbed hold of the gutter, and slid down to the ground. Before Emilia could even process what had happened, he was sprinting in the direction of the market, blending into the crowds of students.

She descended the roof after he’d entirely disappeared. “Just what I needed: _another_ problem child to manage.” 

Meanwhile, Bran was busy ducking behind market stalls while trying to catch his breath. At this point, he didn’t know who was scarier: Emilia or Maura- she was missing too. The thought stopped him in his tracks and made him feel sick. If there was a list of people who mattered in the grand scheme of things, Maura and Vera would be at the top while he fell squarely in last place. So, why was _he_ here, safe and healthy, while they were… _Why_? 

He dug his nails into his arms, the pain grounding him. No, he didn’t deserve to think such things, not when Nikolai was suffering from far worse. Bran had no right to turn his friend’s tragedy into a self-pity fest. He curled into a ball and pressed his eyes against his knees, trying to keep the burning tears inside his head. 

“What are you doing?” Iosif offered the cowering boy a hand. “That doesn’t look like the best spot for a nap.” 

Bran rubbed his eyes and took the outstretched arm. “I, uh- I just-” He had no idea how to continue this conversation. 

“You don’t have to tell me, but I can’t help wondering if there’s a reason why you were laying on the ground waiting for the earth to reclaim you.” 

“I’m,” Bran said the first word that came to his head, "tired. Tired of everything.” 

Iosif hummed in contemplation. “Because of what happened, or because the general state of the world is never a pleasant one?” 

Bran scoffed hollowly. “Pick one.” He toed the gravel, aimlessly drawing shapes in the dirt.

“Hmm. So… is this about Vera and Maura? I’m just guessing, but you _do_ leave whenever they’re brought up.” 

“I mean, kinda?” He toyed with his raven locks. “It should- Never mind. It’s not your problem.” Bran mustered a weak smile and patted Iosif’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“You know,” Iosif turned serious, “even if you could have stopped Vera—and believe me, you can’t stop a bull when it decides to charge—what difference does that make now?” 

With a genuine chuckle, Bran walked back into the open. “It doesn’t _have_ to make sense,” he said, “It’s a feeling, you know? You can logic it out all you want, but…” He shrugged.

“I get that you feel bad about this. We all do. Just, try not to blame yourself.” Iosif fell into step with him. “At the end of the day,” his gaze dropped to the cobblestone path, “it was _her_ decision.”

Bran hummed a noncommittal sound; the guy didn’t understand, but that wasn’t his fault. Honestly, he was glad that Iosif didn’t have to deal with shit like his—Bran wouldn’t wish that on anybody.

Then, out of nowhere, “I know what it’s like to be fucked in the head.”

Bran came to an instant halt. “I- you- _what_?”

Iosif frowned. “You said it was something you couldn’t logic your way out of. That happens to me sometimes,” he sounded strained, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to keep going, “but you have to _try_.” 

A meaningful silence passed between the two boys. Shoppers, merchants, and students flowed around them like a rock in the middle of a river. Eventually, Bran looked Iosif in the eye. “That’s what I’ve _been doing_ ,” he muttered bitterly, “I dunno if it’s worth it anymore.”

“The people who care about you are always worth it.” Iosif turned to go in a different direction. “If you don’t believe it, ask them how they’d feel if you dropped dead one day.” 

Bran rolled his eyes and went his own way. _As if they’d notice_. With a yawn and creaky stretch, he decided to find a secluded spot for a long nap. It always hit the spot after a good cry.

___

When the Archbishop called all the former Lions to a meeting, none of them had expected to see her dressed in mercenary garb: it brought them back to their academy days—life had been so much simpler back then. 

“Your Grace,” Seteth didn’t appear overly pleased with her choice of attire. “I must once again insist that you-”

“No.”

“We can’t have you risking your-”

“The time of inaction is over, Seteth. We will need everyone’s assistance to get to the bottom of this.” 

Seteth grumbled, but acquiesced. “Very well.” 

“Er, Your Grace,” Ashe raised his hand, “what exactly do you have in mind?”

“Our first order of business,” Byleth stood at the head of the meeting table, “is routing the spies from our ranks. And please: we needn’t bother with formalities now.” 

Felix strolled to the front of the group. “Do you have any leads? We can’t just start dismissing people indiscriminately.”

“My contact within the Knights of Serios is extremely thorough. She profiled all of our suspects, and I trust her instincts in this matter.” Byleth retrieved a roll of parchment from the table and offered it to Felix.

His eyes scanned the list. “Are you going to tell us who this contact is?”

“It’s best if she remains completely undercover. At least, for the time being. I’m asking you and Sylvain to confront the individuals listed here.”

Sylvain winked. “You got it, Prof.” 

“Thank the heavens,” Linhardt whispered to his partners, “she’s unlikely to ask anything of _us_.”

At that moment, Byleth placed a small bag directly in front of him. “Linhardt.”

“Drat.” In his mirth, Caspar just about keeled. Ashe gave Linhardt a supportive shoulder squeeze.

“I think you’ll find the contents of this _very_ intriguing,” she opened the pouch, and two gleaming red orbs rolled out. Linhardt’s eyes went wide. “I need you to conduct research and report to me with any and all findings.”

“Are these,” he immediately set about examining every inch of them, “ _crest stones_?” 

“Replicated crest stones.” Byleth couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face; Linhardt wasn’t particularly expressive, but his eyes would light up when something piqued his curiosity. “We need to know what they’re capable of and how they could be used against us. Interested?”

“ _Extremely_. I wonder what Hanneman will have to say…” With an impressive level of speed, the magic-user gathered his things and bolted to the library with the replicas in hand. 

“Hooo boy,” Caspar smirked. “Nothing can stop him when he gets like that.” 

Ashe winced. “Not even basic necessities. Like food.” 

“Well, at least we know he’ll find time to sleep,” Caspar chuckled.

“Annette, I’d like you to assist him.”

Said girl sprang out of her seat. “On my way!” She swiftly followed after Linhardt. 

“Ingrid, Caspar, and Ashe: I’m tasking you with investigating Aurik Village—the site of the most recent illness-related incident. There may be a fresh trail of information awaiting us.” 

Ingrid nodded. “We won’t disappoint you, Professor.” 

“Yes!” Caspar smacked both his teammates on the back. “Don’t you worry, Professor! We got this by the ass!”

“Mercedes and Manuela are still tending to sufferers in the infirmary: they’ll let us know if there’s any progress with a cure.” The Archbishop’s hand came to rest on her waist, where the Sword of the Creator waited to be unleashed. “Seteth and I will search the land near infected villages—there must be an explanation for how they’ve avoided detection.” 

Right when the sentence left her mouth, the door flew open to reveal a very frantic Flayn. She bowed. “Pardon my intrusion, but I must _insist_ upon coming with you.” 

“Flayn!” Seteth was at her side in an instant. “ _What_ are you doing here? You have a class to teach!”

“I gave them an unsolvable question—they are still in the midst of a spirited debate. Again, _I must insist_.” She gave another, even lower bow. 

“Arch- Byleth... Please, do not tell me you are considering-”

“What was the question?” Byleth appeared genuinely curious, much to his chagrin. 

“If someone who always lies says they are telling the truth, are they lying or telling the truth?” 

Byleth cracked a smile. “Clever.” She rested her hands on Flayn’s shoulders. “What is it that you wish to do?”

Flayn grasped Byleth’s hands. “Allow me to accompany you and my brother; you may find yourselves in need of healing magic.” Her tone was pleading. 

“Gladly.” Byleth ignored Seteth’s startled squawk and hugged Flayn close. 

___

Kliment needed to take his mind off of, well, everything. He’d tried studying, but he was too pent up to focus—that sent him off to the training grounds to hopefully work out his nerves. When he arrived, Irina was once again facing off against her father: it made for quite the spectacle, and he wasn’t the only observer. Their blades collided rapidly, and the two moved at a speed that was nearly impossible to follow. Eventually, Felix held his sword to his daughter’s throat, but the match had been close. 

“Your form is better today,” Felix remarked. He lowered the practice blade and set it back on a nearby rack. 

“But not perfect,” Irina noted, voice laced with slight dismay. “I’m still too quick to lunge.”

“And the arc of your swing should be stronger.” 

They continued back and forth like this; Kliment found a practice spear and busied himself with a few drills. Being active was certainly more helpful than his previous endeavors, but still his mind wandered to Iosif in that shed. He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, and stabbed the unfortunate dummy aggressively. 

“Also,” Felix’s eyes narrowed, “overtraining won’t do you any good. Rest may be annoying, but it’s also a necessity. Get to bed.” His tone left no room for debate. 

Irina nodded sharply. “Yes, Sir.” 

Satisfied, Felix turned to leave before stopping. “You should probably dye your hair soon: it’s turning blue.” Then he was gone. 

Kliment stifled a chuckle at that, and swung his weapon overhead before bringing lower to ‘decapitate’ his foe. As soon as the straw head rolled to the floor he approached Irina; she regarded him with a brief glance while gathering her things. 

“Need something, Klem?” She asked, slinging a rucksack over her shoulder. 

“Why are you still dying your hair?” he smiled, “By now, you’ve become an incredible soldier on your own merits.”

Irina paused. “It’s out of habit,” she thought for a moment, “and I happen to prefer purple over blue.” 

“It _does_ suit you.” Kliment idly toyed with a lock of his hair—where had he been going with this? “What did Felix mean by overtraining?” he tried.

“I wanted to train into the night yesterday, but my mother wasn’t having it,” she huffed. “Yet I caught her going over lesson plans before the sun was up.” Irina tsked. “But, I suppose they _do_ have a point.” 

“Mm.” Where was Iosif right now? Oh Goddess, who knew what he was getting up to. Or perhaps he was overreacting? No, that person, that _version_ of his brother was terrifying. He couldn’t let Mother and Father find out—it would destroy them. Not to mention, what would Iosif do to _him_? His train of thought was interrupted by someone snapping. 

“Hello?” Irina snapped her fingers in front of his face again. He blinked at her, and she tilted her head. “Are you okay? It’s not like you to nod off like that.” 

“Oh! Apologies,” he stammered. “I was- It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

“You’re lying,” it took her less than a second to reach that conclusion. “If something’s bothering you _this_ _much_ , you should probably talk about it.” 

Now, Kliment had all five fingers weaving in his hair. If he told Irina, would she scoff and call him weak? More likely she would say he was being paranoid. Even knowing that, Kliment _had_ to confide in someone—he was going mad.

“Did I ever really know my brother?” he whispered.

Irina took his hand and swiftly escorted him out of the room and into a secluded section of the courtyard. “I’d say it’s likely that you’re familiar with the person you’ve grown up with.” 

He nodded distractedly. “Then… he _is_ a stranger to me.” He could feel tears, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t let Irina of all people see him break down.

“Okay, what the hell happened back at that shed?” Irina crossed her arms. “You’ve both been _off_ since then. Does this have to do with the interrogation?” 

Iosif’s maniacal grin forced itself to the forefront of his mind. Kliment grasped his shoulders to keep from shaking. “There was a corpse in the corner… And he had that man tied to a chair,” his voice trembled. “Iosif was… covered in blood, striking him over and over again.” He swallowed back a retch. “And he was _smiling_ , Rina. He enjoyed it.” 

“That…” Irina had no real idea what to make of that. The image of Iosif doing anything to that degree of sadism wasn’t something her mind could process—he was always good-humored, no matter the circumstance. But it was obvious that Kliment wasn’t lying: on top of having no reason to, the sheer disturbance on his face was clearly genuine. “Have you considered asking him about this?” It was the only suggestion Irina could think of, and it was obvious to her that it was a bad one. 

Kliment offered her a wobbly smile. “Yes, but…” he couldn’t stop the tears now, “how _can_ I? And if told Mother or Father-” He tugged his hair as his vision blurred. “He’s always been the better son… If they find out-”

She cut him off. “They’ll be able to help.” Something was definitely wrong, and Ingrid and Sylvain loved their children too much to let any issues go unchecked. 

“... What will he do to _me_ , Rina?” Kliment shook like a leaf and the tears burned trails down his cheeks.

That threw her for a loop. “You’re… You’re _scared_ of him? Of _Iosif?_ ” 

“When I-” deep breath, “When I came in… he told me—his _voice_ —he told me to leave… and forget I saw anything.” A choked sob. “How am I supposed to do that?” 

“You can’t.” She hesitated, but reached forward and lightly rubbed his back. “This needs to be addressed. I think he knows that. And, I really can’t imagine _him_ hurting you.” 

With a weak, stuttering exhale, Kliment leaned against her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he began, “I’m sorry to burden you with… all of this.”

“It’s no burden.” Irina assured. “You would have keeled over if you hadn’t told anyone.” 

He laughed wetly. “I know.” He paused before taking her hand and holding it close. “You’re a good friend, Rina.” He tried to give her a smile. “You’re- _Thank you_. For… everything.”

“You’re welcome. It really isn’t any trouble.” Irina patted his back again, then began heading inside. Realizing that he likely still needed company, she turned to him. “You shouldn’t stay out here. It’s, uh, getting late.” 

“R-Right,” he forced himself to his feet, furiously rubbing the water from his eyes. Goddess, he was pathetic, wasn’t he? “I should…” he trailed off, unsure what to say.

She took his arm, and guided him into the hallway. 

___

—???—

It was well into the evening when Vera finally awoke. The stinging on her back reminded her of the previous night’s events, and it was quickly apparent that she had passed out. She pushed herself to sit upright, and noticed that she was back in the carriage-prison with a wrap of gauze around her midsection: the burns and lashes she’d sustained still smarted like hell, but the pain wasn’t screeching at her anymore. 

“Not bad for your first time,” snarked a familiar voice. “My first torture session was even less pleasant, and you held it together just as well.”

“Wh-” Her throat remained raw from screaming. “Who,” she motioned to her bandages, “did this?”

Maura stretched. “Callister left me the job of patching you up. They _were_ nice enough to provide the supplies, though.” 

“Huh.” Vera took a moment for that to sink in—Maura had _helped_ her. “Thanks for that.”

The green haired girl shrugged. “I can’t have you dying on me yet. I’ll need all the assistance I can get to obliterate these bastards.” She adjusted her glasses and peered out the slot of a window. “Speaking of, our talkative friend has all but disappeared.”

“That guy...” Vera opted to lay on her side again. “If he's a slave,” bile rose in her throat at the term, “why are they letting him loll here and chat away with us? It’s strange.” 

“Precisely,” Maura narrowed her eyes, trying to see through the growing darkness outside. “It’s my belief that he was left here to be the key to our escape.” 

“Because Callister’s a twisted fuck?”

“Yes. Now if only Bakari would come back…” After another minute of him not appearing, Maura slunk away from the window. “We’ll just have to wait. Oh, it’s about time for me to change those.” In a moment’s notice, she was unraveling the gauze guarding Vera’s wounds. 

“Be honest,” Vera groaned, “how bad is it?”

“Dreadful.” Maura applied more ointment. “I’m impressed that you're conscious.” 

“ _Barely_ ,” Vera tried moving her shoulder; the jolting, burning pain nearly made her shut down. Sweat beading on her forehead, Vera made a mental note to not do that again.

“Try not to move too much. You already won’t be in fighting condition for some days: any excess movement could double the amount of time it’ll take you to recover.” Maura finished placing the final bandage, and held a cup to her lips. “Drink.” 

The liquid on her tongue felt like religion; Vera desperately wished that they were given more, but, lest she forget—Callister was a twisted fuck. “How long has it been?” she asked, “Have we been moving?” 

“It’s been a good few hours.” Maura used a rag to clear away some blotches staining her glasses. “We’re still camped.” She went still for a second, and then turned to fully face the princess. “I haven’t had the chance to apologize.” 

“Huh? For… what?”

“I trusted blindly in my intelligence network, and it was infiltrated. From a professional standpoint,” she gestured to Vera, “I failed my clients. I intend to correct my error, but for now, I can only offer an apology.” 

After a brief pause, Vera snorted and waved her off. “Can you even call us ‘clients’ at this point?” She shook her head and offered a tired half-smile. “I realize this probably isn’t your thing, but we _could be friends_ if you ever wanted.” 

Maura giggled, having returned from sincere to painfully jovial. “You realize I have a plan to kill you if push ever comes to shove, correct?” 

“Ugh, yeah, I figured.” Vera got comfortable and let her eyes drift closed. “Why do I bother,” she mumbled.

“Perhaps naïveté or some strange sense of kinship born of us being locked up together.” 

“Kinship is _friendship_. Only you would find that strange.”

“Are you both alive?” The sound of Bakari’s voice shocked the princess into alertness. 

“ _FUCK_!” Vera jumped and yelped at the subsequent agony along her back. 

Maura ran to help her sit back down. “Excellent timing!” 

“Doesn’t _sound_ excellent to me.”

“Regardless, how would you like a one way ticket away from this hellscape?” 

“...” The boy went quiet. “Yeah, I don’t see that happening. Anyway, do you guys need water or something?” 

“Generous,” Maura smirked, “But I’d rather talk about _you_. What makes you think that your master isn’t toying with you right now?”

“He probably is—it’s his thing. About that water-”

“If that’s the case, then perhaps he wants to keep this whole thing compelling? He’s testing us by providing a slim chance to escape. That includes _you_ , dear.”

That snarl from before came back in full force. “ _Can I get you something or are you good?_ ” His tone had gone from exasperated to outright animalistic. 

Maura remained undeterred. “Do you _seriously_ believe that he’d be satisfied with such an easy victory?”

“ _Do you_ -” He breathed, and the growl left his words. “You don’t even know who or _what_ you’re talking to.” 

“Mmm, I don’t care. All I know is that we share a hatred for Callister, and that we now have the means to _leave him forever_.”

“Good night. Try not to die in your sleep.” Bakari’s footsteps thudded away from the carriage. 

“That went the opposite of well,” Vera remarked. 

“He’s close to cracking,” Maura purred with a devilish grin. “He’ll come around.”

“So we were right?” Vera asked, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “This random guy is our way out?”

“Without a doubt. In a few days’ time, we’ll be home free.”

___


	18. The Winds of Change Begin to Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of a few much needed developments.

1st of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

  
—???—

After days of Maura’s words rattling around Bakari’s skull like an unchecked migraine, he’d begrudgingly decided to return to them. “Say you’re right: who says I’m any better off casting my lot with you two?” 

Though her mind was sluggish from sleep and her body still ached, Vera perked up at the familiar, youthful voice. “Well for one thing, you’d be a free man. For another, you wouldn’t have to deal with Callister ever again.” 

“You’re tempting me. Quit it,” Bakari huffed. “The last thing I need is to get wrapped up in some hair-brained scheme. Not to mention you were both beaten within an inch of your lives.” 

Maura smirked devilishly. “We’ve recovered enough to manage. I wouldn’t be suggesting this if we didn’t stand a chance.”

“We’re not going to leave you behind,” Vera swore, “All three of us are getting out of here together.”

“Moon guide me…” he groaned. “To hell with it. What do you need me to do?” 

Magenta eyes lighting up, Maura tested the wood before her; there was the distinct rattling of chains on the other side. “Distract them.” She motioned Vera over. “You know what to do, dear.”

“Ugh. Sure. Give me a second.” Their new ally’s footsteps quickly faded away. Not too long after, there was snarling followed by a string of amused laughter. 

“This _again_ , boy? I thought you would know better by now.”

A piercing roar drew the guards around them over to the commotion. Moments later, when the sounds of fighting were ringing through the air, Vera shoved the door open, breaking the chains that locked it in the process.

After sitting for so long in darkness, the golden-white sun nearly blinded them. But Maura and Vera didn’t have time to worry about eye damage when they were met with the sight of a massive wolf snapping at Callister; its movements were fierce, yet lethargic somehow. The man gleefully danced away from its attacks. 

Vera looked around, expecting to see a slim, malnourished boy somewhere in the crowd. “Where is he?” 

“How should I know?” Maura darted behind another carriage with spider-like agility.

“Fun as this has been,” Callister ducked under a claw swipe, “I think it’s about time for your mid-morning nap.” With a snap of his fingers, a metallic collar around the animal’s neck crackled with electric energy. The wolf fell with a dull whimper. Vera pitied the poor thing. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Maura hissed, having reappeared behind the princess. 

“It just seems cruel. Sorry, let’s find our ally and-” Suddenly, in a glimmer of light, the injured canine transfigured into a young man. “Wha- That- _Huh_?” Vera’s eyes almost popped out of her head. For once, Maura was speechless. 

Callister tsked as he crouched before the twitching boy. “When will you learn your place, sub-human?” he smiled ruefully, like a parent lecturing their child. “I saved your life, and this is how you-?”

“Oh, would you _stop_ with that line?” The boy’s voice was strangely familiar. “You abducted me. I’m so goddamn tired of your sanctimonious act.” 

Vera stared at the tail flicking back and forth. “Y-You don’t think…?”

Maura blinked at the wolffish ears atop his head. “I guess that explains the hearing.” 

“You wound me, Bakari.” Callister dabbed at an imaginary tear. “I’d always intended to take you under my wing once you grew out of your tantrums. You’ve been so good these past moons. I suppose we’ll both have to wait a bit longer.” 

“I hope by ‘a bit longer’ you mean until the end of time.” 

“That certainly,” Maura continued to stare at the scene, “ _complicates_ matters.” 

Vera cracked her knuckles. “We have to help him.”

“Do you have an actual plan?”

“Not really.”

“I figured,” Maura frowned. “How are your injuries?” 

“As good as they’ll get all things considered. What about you?”

Maura rolled her still sore shoulder and sighed. “The left side of the crowd is thinnest, so we should cut through there.” With slight hesitation, she summoned several Dark Spikes and used them to carve a path forward: straggling Agarthans leapt out of the onslaught’s way, leaving a clear line to Bakari in their wake. “Ugh. Let’s go.” 

“ _Let’s_.” Vera decked a distracted soldier upside the head and stole the spear from their limp form. “Watch my back.” With minimal grace, the two ran toward their ally while batting at warriors and brawlers like they were flies. Maura used small bursts of magic to keep enemies away from Vera while the princess wielded her lance more like a bludgeon. 

With a heartfelt groan and grit teeth, Maura slid to her knees before blasting the foes before them with a beam of Luna’s moonlight. “How do we get this,” she tugged at the device on Bakari’s neck, “off you?”

Bakari grimaced as he looked up at her, baring his razor-like incisors. “Something with magic maybe?” He wobbled to his feet and leaned on Maura’s shoulder. “That do you any good?” 

“No, but,” her vision blurred for a moment, “just stay still, even if it burns.” 

“Oh, fun.”

Maura breathed deeply and focused Miasma onto the metal. Sweat beaded on her brow as she forced herself to focus through her constant pain. Toxins from the atmosphere manifested at her fingertips and ate away at the material. Bakari gnashed his teeth and trembled as he fought to keep from fidgeting. Slowly but surely, his neckband wore away. 

At last, Bakari shook his head and bits of burned fabric flew everywhere. With another flash, he became a midnight blue wolf the size of a pony. His ears were oddly long, and there were thorn-like markings along his legs.

Bakari snarled and proceeded to tear any Agarthan he could get his fangs or claws on to shreds. He was biting into a woman’s neck one second and ripping through a man’s face the next: his abilities had tripled in ferocity now that the collar was gone. 

Woozy from the exertion, Maura stumbled toward Vera. Her head was throbbing now in addition with the searing burns on her back. Bakari bounded over to Vera and barked, “Get on!” The shapeshifter didn’t wait for her to respond; he dove between Vera’s legs and stood abruptly before taking off. “You too, c’mon!” he jerked his head at Maura.

To her credit, She did manage to shuffle closer to him before completely collapsing. 

“Holy shit, wait-” Vera reached out and caught her. “You’re done for today.”

The fall had caused Maura’s glasses to crack. “Unfortunately, it seems I am.” She could only limply cling to Vera as Bakari broke into a full sprint. 

He jumped over carriages and charged through any unlucky bystanders. Arrows and spells blew past them, but not a single one hit. 

Standing amidst the chaos was Callister, admiring the panicked looks on his subordinates with a wide grin. “Well, that was quite the escape act!” he cackled. 

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officer’s Academy—

“Ah, two best friends together again!”   
  


“That is a flawed statement. We were _never_ friends, let alone best friends.”

“You know, I thought you’d eventually grow out of this angst phase. It’s been how many decades now?” 

“I grew up. You are and always will be a child.”

“Speaking of children, Irina really was screwed from the moment of her conception, wasn’t she?”

“I could say the same about your children.”

“Ehhhh, you’re probably right. They’re better off than I was as a teenager, though.” 

“That’s not saying much considering you tried to _fuck_ your problems away.”

“Hey, I technically didn’t fuck any of those girls.” 

“Then what were you doing when they stayed the night? Playing tiddlywinks?”

“Things that fall within that technicality.” 

“Why the hell did Byleth pair us together?”

“Because we’re the _best of buddies_ , Fe,” Sylvain winked at the murderous scowl Felix sent his way. “Anyway, there’s only one more person we have to talk to, right?” 

“Miracles do exist.”

“Um, Father?” Kliment interrupted. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s urgent.” 

That was all Kliment had said when he pulled his father away from his duties. As soon as the door to his dorm was closed, with his back facing Sylvain, he divulged everything that had been haunting him. Silence followed the revelation. 

“I’ll- Should I go fetch him?” He was already reaching for the door when Sylvain took his shoulder and turned him around. All the same, Kliment found himself unable to look his father in the eye.

“Are you okay?” Sylvain tried to meet his son’s gaze to no avail.

“I…” Kliment briefly considered lying. “No, Father. I’m not.”

As fate would have it, the topic of their conversation chose that moment to knock on the door. “Is everything alright in there? You ran in here pretty frantically, Klem-” Iosif cut himself off at the sight of his father and brother sitting together. “... You seem like you’ve got this handled. I think I’ll go grab lunch.” 

“Ah-ah-ah, hold your horses, kid,” Sylvain swiftly blocked the door, looming over Iosif with crossed arms. 

“Dad, you know I ride a pegasus instead of a horse now.” 

“You’re hilarious. Sit down and shut up.”

Iosif heaved a dramatic groan. “Yes, Father.” He slumped into Kliment’s desk chair. “Let me open by saying that I think I know what this is about. But, I am completely fine. I admit that I may have… lost it for a moment, but it was a one time thing, I swear.” Sylvain remained unimpressed. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Many, many times. But counting today? Yes. You _reek_ of bullshit.”

“Okay,” Iosif resigned himself to talking, but that didn’t mean he’d make it easy. “what do you want me to say?” 

“I want you to _talk to me_ , Iosif,” Sylvain sighed, wearing a serious frown. “What is going on? How can I help?” 

Seeing Sylvain this sincere was a rare occurrence: so rare that Iosif honestly had no idea how to handle this. “Uh, you want to… _why_?” 

Sylvain blinked. “Because you’re my son and I love you.”

“I’m aware of that, but I fail to see what that has with anything.” Iosif tried to keep his voice from breaking. “I mean, I don’t really think I need help.” 

“Something is _clearly_ wrong. If you let people in, your life could get considerably better.”

“Pft. My life is a raging forest fire—it will never get-” Iosif clamped his mouth shut. What had possessed him to say that? 

“Iosif,” Kliment took a shaky step forward, “all these years, you’ve kept your pain to yourself.” He offered a wobbly half-smile. “Please, let us shoulder whatever is burdening you.”

Despite wanting nothing more than to not answer, Iosif couldn’t seem to _stop talking_. “You can’t really shoulder everyone who wants me to choke on my own blood.” If Sothis had come down from the heavens and stitched his lips shut, he would have been eternally grateful. 

“You don’t- That’s not what I mean. We just want to listen-”

“If you want to know if all of this has turned me into damaged goods, then the answer is yes. But, there’s nothing anyone can really do about it at this point.” He was severely tempted to attempt to knock himself out—maybe that would make his mouth stop running. Fucking hell, how could he worm his way out of this? “I- It’s not actually that bad.” Because that _definitely_ sounded believable. 

“Can… Can I hug you?”

Iosif came precariously close to saying no. “If you want to.” His brother surged forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you before,” Kliment whispered, “But please, _please_ let me make up for that now.”

“Klem, you,” Iosif patted his brother’s head with a grimace, “really don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t need to know everything about me.” 

“But… I can’t,” he swallowed, “I can’t forget what I saw. And if there’s anything I can do…” 

“I,” Iosif should have reiterated that there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Instead, “don’t know if there is.” 

Sylvain placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ll never know if you don’t give it a shot.” He gave him that roguish smile of his. “C’mon, Iosif. We may surprise you.”

“... Where should I start?” 

Kliment pulled back and squeezed his hand. “Wherever you feel the most comfortable.”

___

Well into the afternoon, Irina had taken to practicing on her own since Felix was occupied. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a mess of blonde hair and stopped for a brief second. If Nikolai had left his room prior to this moment, she certainly hadn’t seen him until now. 

“Morning,” she greeted before delivering an overhead strike to a training dummy. 

“Good morning.” He answered, settling into a position from which he could watch her. 

“Is there,” Irina sincerely hoped he hadn’t come to her for comfort: she had barely been able to console Kliment the other day, “something you need?” 

“Why aren’t you sparring with someone?” Nikolai tilted his head.

“I _did_ spar with people.” She performed a series of lightning fast jabs. “Now they’re in the infirmary.” 

Nikolai’s brow shot up. “Well… would it be at all possible to practice with you?”

Irina halted her movement and faced him. “… Why?” 

“I need to become better, and you’re the best swordsman here.” His duel with Eskandar had been on Nikolai’s mind as of late; he’d barely survived the trickster’s antics, and his shortcomings couldn’t go unaddressed.

“There’s always someone better,” Irina rolled her eyes. “And I’m not exactly teacher material.” 

“I’d rather learn under you than, say, your father.” He scratched his neck. “I feel you’d offer constructive criticism.”

“Fair enough. I suppose Felix’s teaching isn’t for everyone.” 

“You call your father- never mind, of course you do.” 

“How are you looking to improve?” She tapped her foot against the sandy ground. 

The prince picked a practice sword and ran through some quick stretches. “I’ve never been adept at wielding a sword and magic simultaneously.”

Irina hummed in thought. “I find myself relying on spells too often. I’ve been trying to build my skill without them, but I can make an exception here.” She assumed a stance and pointed her sword at him. “En garde.” 

An hour later, Irina had once again knocked Nikolai off balance and pressed her wooden blade to his throat. 

“Get up.” 

“What was it this time?” Nikolai clambered to his feet, tailbone sore.

“I think I know what your _overall_ problem is. You view your weapon and magic as two seperate things and keep trying to rapidly flicker between them.” 

“How am I supposed to focus on spells with a weapon coming at me?” he griped.

Her expression remained steely. “You’ll simply have to become accustomed to it.” Irina considered how best to continue the ‘lesson’. “We won’t get anywhere the way things are now. How do you cast a spell? Walk me through the process.” 

He started to go into the concentration that needed to be maintained while casting, but Irina held her hand up. “That would be great if you were a back line healer. On the front lines, you can’t use all your focus on just one thing.” 

“Well… how do _you_ cast, Rina?”

“I use my magic _as my blade_.” Confusion etched itself across Nikolai’s face, and she groaned. “How do I put this…? Instead of only concentrating on casting a spell, I focus on the entirety of my next strike and channel all my energy there.” 

“But _how_? Is there a… mental exercise you practice?” 

“I envision what I want to do next and do it.” A downward slash of her blade sent a slice of wind across the training grounds. 

“That’s not quite what I’m after.” Nikolai kicked a pebble across the grounds. “I want to dual wield a blade and magic.”

Irina summoned a small whirlwind in one palm and twirled her blade with the other. “The same mental principles apply. You still need to think of it as one motion.” She frowned and shrugged. “I told you I wouldn’t be much of an instructor.” 

Nikolai tried to mimic her, and light flickered at his fingertips. 

Irina raised an eyebrow. “You almost had something there.” 

“I should listen to you more often!” Nikolai smiled sunnily before being overcome by a sense of solemnity. “We’d all probably be better off if I had realized that earlier.” 

She walked toward him and went about correcting his form. “Focus on what you want to accomplish right now.” 

“R-Right.” Nikolai took a slow, grounding breath; he spun his sword in a one-eighty and performed a clumsy, miniature Aura.

“Passable for now. Take a break.” 

“Irina,” he looked her in the eye, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

___

Emilia was almost done in the infirmary for the day. She finished assisting Mercedes with afflicted victims from Aurik and prepared to leave, only to see Dedue in the doorway. Emilia nearly darted past him, but Dedue extended his arm across the doorway; she would only make a fool of herself if she ducked under the obstacle. 

Mercedes giggled and ran to greet her husband with a myriad of affectionate kisses. “I have to spend more time treasuring you while you’re here!” 

He hugged her and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “I’ll make an effort to do the same.” 

“Father, can we please have this discussion after I finish my work for today?” By now, she was seriously considering crawling under him to freedom.

“Busy, are we?” he rumbled in his impassive tone.

“Very. I have my studies to attend to and ensure that my friends don’t kill themselves in the meantime.”

Dedue nodded sagely. “Very important.”

“Excuse me.” Emilia quickly side stepped him and started speed walking away. 

She eventually found herself at the training grounds, trying to force an overworked Mathilda into taking a break. “Can you _please_ rest?” she asked, rubbing her temples. 

Mathilda paused in her punching only to whip around and clasp Emilia’s hands. “ _How_ did you get so buff?”

“What does that have to do with what I just said?” 

“I _need_ to get stronger _yesterday_.”

Emilia shook her grasp off. “Get some food and head to bed.” 

“I will if you tell me the secret of your amazing muscles!” There were stars in Mathilda’s eyes as she bounced on the balls of her feet. 

“When I was younger, I trained by punching steel plates.” The Duscur girl’s tone was utterly flat. “Perhaps that contributed.”

“ _Damn_! Okay, so, what was your routine? How many reps did you do?”

Instead of replying, Emilia threw Mathilda over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you after dinner.” 

“Oh come on! Don’t tell me you can’t talk _during_ dinner!” Mathilda flailed. “This is such crap!” 

On her way out, Emilia noticed that Bran was standing in the corner staring at them. “What are you looking at?” 

The scrawny archer jumped ten feet in the air. “N-Nothing! I was passing through! Just on my way to a thing!”

“Okay then.” She slung him over her other shoulder and continued toward the dining hall. 

“W-What the hell is this? Lemme go, damnit!” 

“No.” 

Bran squirmed like a fish in a net. “I’m being kidnapped! Somebody help!”

Mathilda laughed. “No need to be so dramatic, B.” 

“I’m glad _you_ can laugh at this, but I feel violated!” 

“Can you really say _you_ feel violated when you were just leering at both of us?” Emilia pointed out. 

“I-I was not- You trying to make me seem like a s-scumbag or something?!” he sputtered, face turning dark red.

“Are _you_ trying to make me seem like some freak by yelling whenever I ask you to take care of yourself? And don’t even pretend that you ate today.” 

“I had breakfast! And don’t change the subject!”

Mathilda looked at him and frowned. “You aren’t eating again?” 

“I. had. _Breakfast_!” 

“So you ate one meal that I’m guessing consisted of little more than bread,” Emilia would have mockingly applauded if her hands weren’t full. “Allow me to throw you a parade.” 

“What is with your attitude, lady?”

After depositing both of them in front of the dining hall, Emilia had Bran stay behind. “I won’t spend time coddling you while you refuse to tend to basic needs and inevitably waste away. My attitude will improve when I don’t have to check to see whether or not you’re starving to death. You think I’m doing this for fun when there are one hundred other things I could be dealing with?” 

Bran fiddled with his hood’s liripipe. “Then make things easier on yourself and worry about _that_ stuff, alright?” 

“Just go get food.” 

Like a child that knew he wouldn’t get his way, Bran grumbled and stomped inside. He grabbed a bowl of soup and sat miserably at a far table.

“Goddess give me patience…” Emilia once again bumped into Dedue. “Good evening, Father.” She moved to pass him, but he held her back by the shoulder. “I apologize for avoiding you. I’d just like to finish my duties before having _this_ discussion.”

“In that case,” he handed her a hefty, worn tome, “you’ll be needing this.” 

It took a good few minutes for her to stutter a response. “W-What is this? And where did you find it?” 

“Home.”

“This is-” she flipped through it and teared up a bit upon realizing what the book was. “I thought everything like it was destroyed.” 

“Not _everything_. One just has to know where to look.”

“Thank you, Father,” Emilia embraced him. “I’ll put it to good use, I promise. 

Dedue rubbed her back and tucked stray locks behind her ears. “Hm. All I ask is that you do your best.”

Mathilda watched them from afar, beaming. Maybe those two weren’t so icy after all. 

___

The Daphnel Stew was delicious, and Bran hated it. He wasn’t hungry, so why was he here? It was a waste of food anyway; it wasn’t like he was going to even ingest most of it.

Mathilda whistled. “You got Captain Jaeger dismissed?” 

“Him _and_ his lackeys,” Irina remarked, her disdain evident. “They were hauled off to Fhirdiad to answer for their crimes against the people of Sauin.” 

“Finally, some good news,” Bran mumbled. He kept his ‘too little, too late’ comment to himself. “Didn’t realize you had so much say in all the military stuff.”

“House Fraldarius has its share of connections within the army. Once villagers knew we were in their corner, they were more than happy to provide detailed accounts of Jaeger’s offenses.” She wished she had been there to see the captain debased. “I said I’d handle him, so I did.” 

“Much appreciated.” Bran preferred not to think about home—it got him wondering about his family. Were they doing better without him being a burden? Probably. But were they worried about him?

“Don’t sell yourself short, Rina,” Kliment gushed, “It was your letter that convinced the higher ups to investigate his crimes! Your house didn’t get rid of him— _you_ did!”

“It doesn’t matter who got rid of him. A man like that should never have been appointed in the first place.” Irina’s eyes narrowed. “The fact that this was only recently resolved says more about the sorry state of our military than it does about me.” 

“‘Course this begs the question of who they’re gonna get to replace him,” Bran said bitterly.

“I oversaw that personally,” Irina assured him. “His replacement is well known for their _respectful_ dealings with townsfolk.”

“Huh. Pays to have friends in high places.” At least Bran now knew how low they were on the Kingdom’s list of priorities. 

“It’s so fucked up that nothing would have happened if we hadn’t stumbled into Sauin.” Mathilda fumed. “Does no one ever check to see if a person in authority is actually _deserving_ of that authority?” 

The archer hummed a laugh. “Guess not, but it ain’t _that_ surprising. My village doesn’t matter a gnat’s ass in the grand scheme of Fódlan’s politics.”

“There has to be a nationwide reform.” Irina decided. She took a bite of peach sorbet while contemplating how to go about such a massive venture. “It could start with nobles being convinced to conduct evaluations within their own territories.” She’d ask Felix for advice when they sparred again. 

“That’s a great idea!” Kliment raved. “With House Frauldarius spearheading the endeavor, abuse of power will become a thing of the past.”

Bran hid his bowl beneath the bench. He wished he was brave enough to point out that children were dying in the meantime. The longer he spent at Garreg Mach, the more convinced he became that none of these kids had a clue how the world actually worked. 

Mathilda got up, grabbed a random meat dish, and slammed it onto the table in front of Bran. “You see this? It’s what a normal portion looks like.” 

“Uh, I’ve honestly never seen so much food in my life.” Bran leaned back. “How do you guys live like this? Me and my folks usually have to poach deer to make a dish _half_ this sized,” he breathed a laugh. “You’re all living the good life, I swear.”

“B,” Mathilda shoved a fork into his hand, “ _eat_.” 

Bran shook his head and got up. “Not today.” Without looking back, Bran stepped out into the crisp night air. He’d find a good place to watch the sunset from.

Mathilda followed him without making a sound. When he perched on a rooftop, she hopped up to join him. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

“ _Sweet Sothis_!” Bran would’ve tumbled down if he hadn’t been gripping the roof trim. “Don’t scare me like that, Mat!”

“ _You’re_ scaring _me_.” 

“Wh- I’m sorry?”

“Be honest,” she folded her arms. “What’s wrong?” 

“Mat...” Bran ran a hand down his face. “There’s nothing going on, this is just how I am.”

“How you are isn’t healthy.” 

“I ain’t dead yet.” He offered her a rueful grin. “Don’t take on my shit when you’ve got your own stuff to worry about.”

“You’re not-” Her breathing quickened at the notion of another person she cared about getting hurt without her being able to stop it. Mathilda yanked on her pigtails. “I can’t _not_ worry. Don’t you get that?” 

With a long suffering sigh, Bran turned away and toyed with his hood. “I guess. Doesn’t make sense, but I hear you.”

Later, she’d confront him about that ridiculous line of thinking. Right now, she needed to get a hold of herself. “Give me a minute.” Deep breaths, like the ones Ashe had shown her. 

“You good?” When she opened her eyes, Bran was right next to her. This close, she could see his feathery hair flitting in the slight breeze, the sunset giving it a glistening shine. His irises were like melted gold- damnit, Mathilda, _quit it_.

“Yeah,” she gasped one more time and her breathing steadied. “I’m working through it. That fight messed me up more than I thought it did.” 

Her companion bowed his head. “Mm, I know what you mean.”

“Anyway...” Her heartbeat wasn’t pounding anymore: that was a good sign. “Nikki wants to see you.” 

Of course the boy turned adorably pink at that. “Nik?” his voice cracked a little, “Why would _he_ -”

“You’re the only one of us he hasn’t been able to spend any time with. We were talking this morning, and he said he missed your company.” Why did he look so surprised by that?

“I thought he had too much to deal with.” 

“We all have too much to deal with,” she countered. “Being around friends tends to help with that.” 

Bran kept quiet and stared at the watercolor skyline for what felt like an hour. When he spoke again, his tone was soft and uncertain. “What should I say to him?” he asked.

Mathilda gave his hand a light squeeze. “Whatever you want.” 

___

—Adrestian Territory, Aurik Village—

“You sure you can do this right now?” Ashe asked. 

“Mhm,” Lillian was certain she’d be doing her late instructor a disservice if she stayed quiet. “Before she died, Gretchen told me about,” she gulped at the sound of her name, “merchants that didn’t sell anything. They just kinda paraded all throughout town.”

“I see,” Ingrid wished they didn’t have to pester her during such a hard time. “Could you describe any of them? What they were wearing, for example.” 

“Hoods. Not much else. They didn’t seem fond of the sunlight.” Lillian rubbed at her eyes, thankful that her tears had long since dried up. “Listen, if you plan on fighting these people, I can lend a hand.” She clumsily rummaged through a bag full of schematics: all the inventions that Gretchen hadn’t gotten to finish. “I‘m a smith. Not as good as-” Now wasn’t the time for her to doubt her abilities. Lillian held up a blueprint with her trembling hands. “I have a prototype for this one ready.” 

“Is that a _ballista_?” Caspar was unquestionably impressed. 

“It’s, erm, a lot more than that. Take me with you?” 

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea-” Ingrid began.

“Of course you can come along!” Caspar announced. Ingrid promptly smacked him while Ashe face-palmed. “Ow! What?” 

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” Lillian flung her arms around Caspar’s neck. “You won't regret this, I promise!”

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, Library—

“They exude corrupting energy, that much is certain.”

“Corrupting… _how_ , exactly?”

Linhardt and Annette had somehow been able to balance classes with intensive research: quite the feat considering that one of them was prone to falling asleep in the midst of lectures. 

“Regular crest stones can cause people to transform into demonic beasts, but that isn’t their _purpose_. These seem to have been made with the sole intention of doing harm.”

Annette peeked over Linhardt’s shoulder. “What kind of harm are we looking at, though? Mass destruction?” With a start, she began to fear that the monastery was in danger of exploding.

“Maybe making the beast transformation stronger and more permanent. However, that hardly explains why they’re choosing to harness this power within fake crest stones: those are intended to be inserted into-” Linhardt paled. “Oh, that’s _bad_.” 

“W-What? _What_?”

“These are supposed to be put inside of _weapons_.” 

“Like, forged into axes or swords? What would that accomplish?”

“You’re more than aware of how powerful relics are.” 

“O-Oh…” Annette suddenly needed to sit down. “ _Oh_.”

___


	19. Peace Never Lasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the calm before the umpteenth storm.

2nd of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Kingdom Territory, Underneath Fraldarius Lands—

Sinthia rubbed her forehead as she maneuvered through the winding halls of the underground facility. She’d never had any intention of pretending to be a saint, but her latest task was utterly beyond reason. Eris and Minerva trotted behind her: honestly, their bickering was a welcome distraction from the job at hand. 

“I am  _ fully _ capable of keeping Lady Sinthia safe. You’re unneeded—not to mention annoying.” 

“You couldn’t defend a nursery!” Eris spat, jabbing his finger at Minerva.

“Ugh. Isn’t Eskandar supposed to keep you in check?” 

“He does whatever the hell he wants. Good riddance, I say!”

“Eris. Minerva.” All it took was Sinthia saying their names to get them to stop arguing. “If this takes more than three hours, it’s likely something’s gone wrong. Don’t try to enter the chamber—find other mages to dispel the ritual.” 

“Understood, my lady,” Minerva hastened to reply.

“Lady Sinthia has this well in hand.” Eris cast her a vulnerable look. “D-Don’t you?” 

Sinthia reached back and ran her fingers through his hair. “Magic of this magnitude always comes with risk. We must be prepared for an unfortunate outcome—no matter how unlikely.” 

“B-But if you don’t come back-”

“You misunderstand me, child.” She offered him a warm smile. “I have every intention of returning. Do not fret.”

“If you  _ do _ die an untimely death,” Callister seemed to aparate in front of them, “I could always bind  _ your _ soul to the mortal realm as well! Since your death would be recent, it really wouldn’t be much trouble.” 

Minerva grumbled something along the lines of “how has no one killed him yet?” as she gripped her spear tighter. Eris visibly returned to his normal, feral self, and Sinthia unabashedly rolled her eyes at her colleague’s antics.

“Have I ever told you how you brighten my day, Callister?”

“No…?”

“Exactly.”

“Hehe! You tell the best jokes, Sinthy.” He happily skipped ahead, pushing open the doors to a dimly lit chamber and disappearing inside. 

“Milady,” Minerva stepped between Sinthia and the chamber. “I’m not particularly comfortable leaving you with...  _ him _ .” 

“Looks like we agree on something.” Eris muttered. 

“I assure you,” Sinthia sidestepped her retainer, “I have nothing to fear from Callister.” 

At that moment, someone cried out in pain while the man in question giggled like an amused schoolgirl. 

“... For the most part.” Before she could be stopped, Sinthia walked inside and closed the door behind her, making sure to bolt it shut. It was almost pitch black, but a few candles illuminated the tangle of writhing, bloodied limbs in the center. Her face crinkled in disgust: these were  _ their _ people, big slabs of meat to be thrown to a butcher when it was convenient. 

“Are you going to watch or do you plan on assisting any time soon?”

Willing herself to ignore the torment before her, she stood opposite Callister—the circle of tortured Agarthans between them. “These offerings are sacrificed to bind one who no longer draws breath,” her hands lit up with sickly dark energy. “I offer their torn flesh and shattered bone to create a vessel for this soul.” 

A pillar of black flames erupted and quickly ate away at their sacrificial victims; it consumed them all too quickly for any to muster a scream. 

“Come to us from the great beyond,” Callister performed a dragging gesture, “and chain your spirit to a different service. We are your people now.”

The fire surged in on itself and took on a humanoid shape. As soon as the figure formed, it began to thrash violently. Tendrils of magic wrapped around its limbs.

Sinthia shuddered from the effort of holding the being still. “Be silent. Be bound.” 

“Be silent.” Callister repeated. He was trembling just as much, but he looked pleased by the challenge. “Be bound.” 

Their new servant growled and hissed, spittle flying everywhere, as it shivered like a newborn. Pallid and gaunt, the specter regarded them with milky eyes.

“You are ours,” the sound of Sinthia drew the apparition into a stiff bow, “and you live again to obey.” 

“ _ What must be done _ ?” Its voice brought to mind a whistling breeze, but possessed a deep timbre that spoke of ages long past.

“Well, Blaiddyd,” Callister grinned, “nothing right now. But how would you like to see your grandkids someday?” 

___

—???—

If Maura didn’t find some trace of civilization soon, the three of them were as good as dead. Truth be told, they were already up shit creek without a paddle—her and Vera’s burns were far from healed and Bakari was dealing with the after effects of Maura melting his collar off: to say the heated metal had left a nasty mark was an understatement. But the frigid Kingdom weather turned the situation from bad to dire. Maura was morbidly curious about which would kill them first: the debilitating cold or their horrific injuries?

“We should rest,” Maura slumped onto a frost-encased log and tried to catch her breath, “but first we need a fire.” 

“I can handle that.” Bakari had chosen to remain in his beast form; it was easier to move around, and he was able to carry the girls whenever they fell victim to overexertion. Even so, hearing a giant wolf talk would always be a peculiar sight. 

On a better day, Vera would have offered to help him. Unfortunately, this was no such day. “Thank you.” 

As the sun began to sink, Bakari set them down in a small grove of pines. They watched in quiet fascination as their fellow escapee bounded into a patch of trees, seamlessly vanishing amidst the coming dark.

“Okay,” Vera’s breath puffed out in front of her, “are we finally going to address the elephant in the room?”

Maura snorted a laugh and smirked. “I think what you meant was the  _ wolf _ in the-”

“Do not finish that sentence if you value your life.” 

“Hmm.” Suddenly serious, Maura gazed at the footprints Bakari had left behind. “Without him, we’d be prisoners or corpses. He could turn into a flying serpent for all the damns I give.” 

Vera flopped onto her back and looked to the darkening sky with heavy eyelids. “I forgot that  _ nothing _ fazes you.”

“You could always talk  _ to _ him instead of  _ about _ him.” 

“I’m going to. I figured I should convene with you _ first _ , but…”

“Anyway,” Maura did her best to warm her hands while they waited, “the more pressing issue is figuring out where we are and where we’re going.” 

A long quiet descended upon them before Vera mumbled, “Fhirdiad is our best bet.”

“The problem is determining what direction it’s in. As I said, we don’t know where we are.” Maura thought for a moment. “Have we passed anything you recognized?” 

“I…  _ think  _ I saw Conand tower to the far east when we were on Bakari. That’d mean these are the Tailtean plains.” Vera shrugged and groaned. “Of course, I was half asleep so who knows.”

“Then I suppose we head north and hope for the best. One more thing—I realize things are awkward between you and your father, but I hope that doesn’t prevent you from accepting his aid.” 

Vera could only stare at the frost-painted grass. How the hell  _ was  _ she going to approach Dimitri? Perhaps foolishly, she’d set out with the intention of never coming back; that probably devastated him just as much as the truth of the war had destroyed her. Would she be able to apologize- No, Vera regretted nothing. But could she pick up the pieces and start over again with him? 

“I’d recommend planning out what you’re going to say to him before we arrive,” the assassin untied her grimey hair. “It would be rather unfortunate if you froze up on the spot. That would only make your situation more uncomfortable.” For a brief moment, somewhere in the back of her mind, she longed for a chance to confront her own father. Not for some apologetic reunion, but for the opportunity to… She shook her head: it did her no good to allow him space in her mind. 

“Goth the wooth.” Bakari trotted toward them, a bundle of sticks clenched in his jaws. He dropped the firewood at their feet before plopping down. “Pah, bark tastes so weird.” 

Maura went to work trying to kindle a flame: she spent a good minute rubbing two twigs together until they finally smoked and set the other sticks alight. The heat on her face was such a stark contrast to the freezing air that she nearly pulled back—then the warmth settled into her bones and the tips of her fingers had feeling again. 

“Couldn’t you have used a spell or something?” Bakari asked, having settled by the flames for a well-deserved rest. 

“I don’t know fire magic.” It wasn’t a lie on her part; she had never bothered to learn. 

Vera felt a pang of curiosity. It couldn’t hurt to ask, even if Maura wasn’t likely to be anything but vague. “Aren’t those spells pretty simple compared to things like Dark Spikes and Miasma?” 

“Yes they are.” Maura smiled cheekily. “ _ Anywho _ , we should all get plenty of sleep. We’ll need it if we hope to reach Fhirdiad within a reasonable span of time.”

It occurred to Bakari that he hadn’t given much thought to where they were going to end up. “Uhh, will I have to hide or anything once we’re there?” 

Vera wrapped her cape around herself as best as she could. “If you stick with us you should be fine.” She cast him a dangerous look. “If anyone has a problem with you, they can take it up with  _ me _ .”

“Or I can cut their throat before they have a chance to object.” Maura winked at him. “Whichever you’d prefer.” 

“Oh...kay. If you say so.”

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

Nikolai hadn’t expected Bran to come tumbling in as soon as he opened his room door. His presence would have been welcome had he not slipped into a fit of despair and bawled for the umpteenth time moments ago. Still, he couldn’t turn him away after so many days of not interacting at all. With a cursory dab at his eyes, Nikolai cast Bran a weary smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

“If this is a bad time, I can always…” Bran jerked his thumb back the way he came.

“No, now is fine.” Nikolai didn’t think about hugging him, he just did it. Maybe it was the desperate desire to throw his arms around his sister, a sense of having sincerely missed Bran’s company, or both. 

“Um, if you’re  _ sure _ .” Bran eventually returned the gesture, his lithe arms wrapping around him as tightly as they could. “Do you wanna… talk about it?”

“I just,” the prince gulped, trying to swallow the returning lump in his throat, “I wish I had stopped her. We were supposed to do all of this  _ together _ .” 

“Well, yeah, who can blame you? But you gotta remember that, no matter how stupid, this was  _ her choice _ .” Bran pulled back to look him in the eye. “You did all ya could, okay? This ain’t your fault.”

“I know.” His mother and other friends had all told him as much. He knew it was true, too, but that didn’t actually help. Nikolai bit his lip. “You and Emilia were with her before… Did she say anything?” 

His gloomy friend rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Something about how it was her duty to protect us. She forgot that it’s  _ our _ job to protect _ each other _ .”

It was scarily easy for Nikolai to picture Vera bruised and battered as she faced down a horde of unrelenting enemies—determined to hold them off for as long as possible even at the cost of- “That sounds like her.” And he was now trying to reassure himself that it wasn’t the last anyone would ever hear of her. 

“Nik… I ain’t too smart, but even I know that it’d be stupid to kill the princess. She’s  _ gotta  _ be alive as a prisoner or something. And you know that Maura’ll find a way to break them out.”

“Right.” Nikolai nodded, more to himself than to Bran. “She’s alive. They’re both alive. They have to be.” 

In an effort to change the subject, Bran tugged on the mini cape of Nikolai’s uniform. “How do you people wear these things every week?” he scoffed, “You gotta be boiling in this heat!”

The blonde gave a light laugh. “We’re just used to it at this point. I’m honestly surprised Seteth didn’t stuff you into one when my mother agreed to let you stay as a guest.” 

“He’d have to  _ catch me _ first. And, no offense, I ain’t cut out for… fancy uniforms. They look better on you.” Wait, had he just…? Bran felt his cheeks heat up.

“You think so?” Nikolai tugged idly at one of his pant legs. “I’ve never thought much of them. Oh, damn, I almost forgot!” He scrambled to grab his satchel. “Sorry, I have a shift in the sick ward. A lot of patients have come in from Aurik: everyone who can heal needs to help.” 

“A-Ah, right.” Bran fiddled with his liripipe. Why did he think someone as busy and important as Nikolai would want to spend any longer than he had to with him? He awkwardly shuffled toward the door. “I’ll just, y’know…” 

“I’ll see you later today.” He hugged Bran again on his way out. Important as this was, Nikolai was a bit remiss to leave. He’d have to sit down with him in the dining hall sometime soon. Speaking of which, “Make sure you eat.” 

With a soulful sigh, Bran bobbed his head. “Yeah, I’ll… see what I can do.”

Nikolai sighed right back. “At least finish half your plate.” Then he was sprinting down the hall. 

Damnit. Bran toed the ground. “Should’ve listened to Mat and come by earlier.”

___

—Officers Academy, Common Room—

“When was the last time we trained together?” Kliment cast his brother a warm, toothy smile. “I mean  _ actually _ trained and not goofed off.”

It took significant effort for Iosif not to start at Kliment’s voice or close proximity. He shook his head: things were better this way, weren’t they? “Right before I gave up on weapons and turned to fireballs.” 

“It does make sparring difficult, huh. But how have your studies for the dark flier exam been coming along?” 

“Not too bad. It’s really just the flight techniques that I need to get better at. I’ll take the certification soon enough.” Iosif grinned, then decided it was too wide and went with a half-smile instead.

“I hope you aren’t feeling obligated to take it. Maura may have foisted Velvet onto you, but that doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

Iosif couldn’t help wondering if he would have asked that before “the talk”. Either way, what was done was done—there was no point in thinking about an alternative. “Nah, I actually like being in the air. This class gels with me more than, say, dark knight.” 

Kliment smirked. “Of course, you’ll need to stay on Velvet’s back for more than twenty seconds.”

“I can manage that so long as I bribe him with a snack beforehand.” 

“Right… But will he listen to you? That pegasus is hell-bent on mischief!”

“It’ll be fine.” Iosif waved his concerns off. “We have an understanding.” 

“Pfft, since when?” It had been some time since Kliment laughed so freely, yet it was a feeling as comfortable and familiar as an old coat. He’d forgotten how to live without the pressure of conflict hanging over him. 

A beat of silence passed. For Kliment it was a comfortable quiet; Iosif found it suffocatingly awkward. “Are you gonna become a wyvern lord soon?” 

“It’s the logical choice.” Kliment shrugged. “Besides, I love Fenya too much. I could never leave her side.”

“Hmm.” Iosif couldn’t think of a way to keep the flow of conversation going, so he rifled through his messy bag and pulled out a homework assignment. 

“It’s odd… coming back to the monastery, resuming our classes.” Kliment’s gaze turned distant. “As if nothing happened. We’re expected to drop everything and let others finish what we started.” 

“Yeah.” It didn’t sit well with Iosif—knowing there was an opponent and being unable to follow their movements. “I guess we just have to wait for this to end.” And how exactly would it end? 

“But… I can’t do that, Iosif. It feels wrong that we go on living here while innocents-” Kliment cut himself off and his leg jittered. 

“It’s not really our decision at this point. Even if we could get away with running off again, we have no idea where they’re going to strike next.” 

“Iosif, tell me that you don’t feel the same way.” Kliment’s puppy eyes pleaded with him. “I can’t sit on my laurels.”

Apparently, the Goddess was answering prayers in the worst way possible today, because as soon as the sentence left Kliment’s mouth a piercing shriek echoed from somewhere downstairs. Iosif dearly hoped it was the sound of a poor soul being subjected to one of Hanneman’s exams. 

“Stop them!” a knight cried, “They have the crest- _ Augh _ !”

Maybe Hanneman had gotten inventive with this particular test. Then a discordant growl echoed through the halls.

“That… does not bode well.” Kliment was already on his feet.

Iosif debated keeping Kliment and himself a safe distance away while the knights handled whatever the hell was going on but… Damn the sense of duty Ingrid had instilled in him. “Let’s see if anyone needs help.” 

The brothers took off down the monastery’s winding passageways, and encountered carnage at every turn. Guards were either mutilated or left to bleed out against the cold stone floor. This couldn’t have been the work of humans—appearances suggested that it was the work of some feral animal; claw marks tore through the guards’ armor like they were paper. 

“W-What could have possibly done this?” Kliment fought the urge to vomit at the horrific view of so many lives lost. Strange as returning to Garreg Mach had been, he’d thought it would prevent him from seeing a sight so awful. 

“Hm.” Iosif’s expression turned blank. Unflinching, he plucked a silver spear from a long dead guard and handed it to Kliment. “You should probably be armed.” 

“A-Ah, right.” He gingerly took the bloodied weapon. “Thanks.”

They rounded a corner and stopped dead in their tracks. A colossal man in ebony armor crushed the windpipe of a struggling soldier beneath his heel with a sickening crunch. Eerily, the frightening figure turned toward the Gautier siblings, an amused groan rumbling beneath its bucket helmet.

Kliment just barely had enough time to put a lance between a sinister greatsword and his face. He hadn’t been able to get into a decent stance, so the force of the blow threw him back: still, it was better to be sore than missing his head. 

Iosif aimed a beam of Thoron at the man, but he was surprisingly quick given his bulk. He evaded the blast and lunged for him, closing the distance with terrifying speed. Kliment shoved his brother out of the way. Only then did Iosif realize his foe wasn’t human—its inky, membrous arms jutted out of its armor like an infectious growth. Haphazard, teeth protruded out of its biceps, and Kliment swore that there was a gaping maw on its shoulder.

When the creature spoke, its voice was little more than a raw, rattling breath. “I  **wiL** L BR **in** G  **PeR** sePhon **E** y **O** uR hEa **Ds** .”

“I,” Kliment clumsily shuffled to his feet, “don’t know that we can beat that thing.” He was actually somewhat ready for the next attack and used the monster’s momentum to dodge behind it—his downward slash would have connected had it not spun around and deflected in the blink of an eye.

“p **Re** DI **cta** B **Le** !” It kicked Kliment in the stomach. The redhead fell to his knees, but swiftly raised his weapon to keep the massive sword from cleaving him in half—he wouldn’t be able to fend off its strength for long: either he would give or the spear would. 

Iosif tried to take advantage of the demon’s lack of attention and by preparing to launch another barrage of magic, but it called his move and slammed the flat of its sword into Kliment’s side. With a yelp, the redhead was pushed into the direct center of where Banshee would have been had Iosif loosed it. In the end, he only succeeded in becoming its next target; ruby, slitted irises peered at him from over a hulking shoulder.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Iosif was well and truly screwed: there was little room to dodge in the tight hallway and he had no weapon to deflect with. 

Gritting his teeth, Kliment slammed his lance into the demon’s side: it hardly budged, but he’d successfully regained its attention. What followed was a blitz of harsh blows—he parried as best he could, desperate to find a chance to land an attack of his own. “Maybe you can,” he jumped away from a sweeping strike but tripped in the process, “run for backup?” 

“ _ Get your nasty ass away from my kids. _ ” A javelin soared through the air and pierced clean through the strange soldier’s arm. When it staggered backward, Sylvain rushed forward and minced its armor with a series of swift axe strikes.

“ **F** iN **aL** ly, s **O** m **E** G **oO** d s **P** oR **T** .”

“Your timing,” Kliment finally had a moment to catch his breath, “is impeccable, Father.” 

With Sylvain holding every ounce of the creature’s focus, Iosif was able to sprint over to Kliment and get him back on his feet. The younger Gautier mouthed a “thank you” and immediately set about looking for a way to get back into the fray. 

The siblings lapsed into a moment of silent observation as their eyes scanned Sylvain’s opponent. Kliment set his gaze on the soldier’s footwork while Iosif tracked his blade. 

Eventually, Kliment nodded to himself. “It’s falling into a pattern.” 

“Yup.” Iosif grimaced. “Sorry to ask this, but will you do the honors?”

“I’m on it.”

“Wait for it... Okay go!” 

With that, Kliment was on the offensive again—he dashed towards the monster right as it began to shift its stance to re-angle the massive weapon it held. The Crest of Gautier flared as the tip of his lance made contact: the greatsword nearly flew out of the demon’s hands—it had to scramble to regain its grip.

Sylvain gladly used the opening to slash his axe across their enemy’s chest. The thing gurgled and swayed, but it did not fall. Instead, it kneed Sylvain in the face with an unsettling crunch. He tumbled back, but Kliment steadied him. Then the masked monster swung its blade in a three-sixty motion; both father and son leapt away, but they were beginning to tire. 

“Our only option is to sever the head,” Sylvain panted. “Do you think you can counter him again?” 

Kliment furrowed his brow. “He may mix up his movements: it isn’t a guarantee.” 

“You could try going for him at the same time.” Iosif suggested, throwing everything from Thunder to Ragnarok at the creature now that he had a clear shot. The spells staggered it, but didn’t halt its advance. He briefly paused his assault. “I have an idea, but it  _ might _ not work.” 

“Honestly,” Kliment watched as the abomination marched forward, dragging its blade along the ground and sending sparks flying, “it’s our only option. What do you need us to do?”

“Well, first, don’t panic.” Iosif took off, running directly at their oncoming assailant. 

“I-I’m sorry, what the  _ fuck _ ?!” Sylvain reached out to stop his son, but the boy was already out of his reach.

“What part of ‘need  _ us _ to do’ didn’t he get?!” Kliment pulled clumps of hair out of his head.

Right when the soldier moved to swing at him, he ducked under the blow and wrapped his arms around their torso in an incredibly awkward embrace. Then, a wave of magic pulsed out from him and the floor beneath them cracked. 

“Oh.” Kliment could smack himself. “He’s used Gravity!” He gave his father a meaningful look before rushing into battle. “Now’s the time!”

Sylvain grinned toothily and joined Kliment. “Howsabout we go for the throat?  _ Literally _ ?”

They both lined up to cleave their respective weapons through its neck, but there was one problem. The force of Gravity was holding their opponent in place, but it was also too strong to push through. 

“Could you work just a  _ teeny _ bit faster?” Iosif choked out, being crushed under the weight of his own spell. 

“D-Damnit all...” Kliment snarled through grit teeth. He grabbed Sylvain’s hand and placed it on his lance. “T-Together! You k-know what to d-do!”

Gautier’s crest enveloped the spear, coating it in a faint glow. The two poured all they had into a lunge aimed at the demon’s throat and broke through Gravity’s hold before piercing through the ebony armor. They thrust the lance in far past the hilt and their foe went slack. Iosif happily released his magic and stepped back as the massive body thudded to the floor. 

“Thank…  _ shit  _ that’s over.” he groaned and gave the other two a lopsided smile. “Pretty badass if I do say so myself.” 

Hands on his knees, Sylvain scoffed breathily. “Says the one who just  _ bear hugged _ a hellspawn.”

“He wasn’t a bad hugger once I set aside the ‘trying to tear me to shreds’ bit.” 

“Idiots, all three of us,” Kliment let out a strained laugh, back to the wall for support. 

___

Even amidst the chaos of hauling wounded knights to the infirmary, Emilia could still tell she was being watched. Picking up on brief glances of contempt had become a habit for her as she’d grown up: now it was easy to tell when a gaze was on her if it held malicious intent. 

To be fair, her stalker knew how to be invisible—she’d seen neither hair nor hide of them since her unease set in. It was the subtle way she’d catch a slight shadow in her periphery or hear the faint noise of movements that weren’t her own. 

Whoever or whatever was following her, she definitely wasn’t leading them back to the sick ward. Emilia had to make her stand now. 

___


	20. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attack continues, but there’s also good news!

2nd of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

Part of Irina had been anticipating something like this: there was no way they’d be allowed to settle back into daily school life after directly interfering with an ancient civilization hellbent on killing everyone. She hauled any injured she came across into the Entrance Hall—the infirmary was overflowing, so the foyer was functioning as a second sick ward. After dragging another wounded back with her, Irina noticed a blur of motion in her periphery. Her hand went to her sword and she moved to enter a lunge; Irina was greeted by a familiar face swinging their axe at thin air. 

“Emilia, what the hell…” she muttered. Her friend was proven sane when, not a second later, a thin man-like creature in a blue hood took a swipe at Emilia with ebony claws. She evaded, and her opponent turned tail (literally) and disappeared amid the rooftops. 

“It’ll be back,” Emilia tightened her grip on her weapon, “it’s following me.” Her head was on a constant swivel, waiting for the creature to strike again. “We need backup, but I doubt it’ll give us a chance to run.” 

“Then our only option is to stand our ground,” Irina drew her blade and a spell flared at her fingertips, “and hope that someone sees us fighting out here.”

“The odds of that happening aren’t promising-” Emilia moved right in time to avoid a swipe to the neck. She swung her axe sideways and their strange foe jumped over the attack—then, in the blink of an eye, it kicked her in the face. The blow left her open to its claws. Emilia backed away, but not before taking a slash to the shoulder. It  _ stung _ , almost burning her skin. That wasn’t the worst part though. Pain was manageable; falling to the ground and being rendered incapable of movement wasn’t.

“Emilia? C’mon, on your feet!” Irina cast Cutting Gale: it didn’t connect, but it did get the beast to distance itself from her prone friend. 

“C-Can’t-” Emilia twitched helplessly on the lawn. It felt like all of her limbs had fallen asleep. “Fall b-back!”

“Excalibur!” Irina ran to Emilia and shrouded them in a veil of wind. “You can’t move?” The other girl struggled to even nod. Gritting her teeth, Irina hefted her up and debated how to best escape the situation. Maybe she could maintain the wind barrier while moving Emilia- no, that would drain her magic far too quickly. She also couldn’t afford to drop the spell entirely—that would leave them open to any form of assault. The former idea was likely her best bet. 

Picking up on their weakness, the demonic beast stalked toward them and extended its long bladed fingers. As it reached out to breach Irina’s barrier, a silver sword came slicing down through the air and the demon’s wrist. It wailed and fled up the far wall as black blood puddled on the ground.

“Coward,” Felix scoffed, stabbing his dirtied blade into the grass. He stooped and helped the girls stand. “Can you fight?”

“I believe so.” Miraculously, the feeling had actually begun returning to Emilia’s limbs. Irina loosed her hold on Emilia and she remained upright on her own. “It looks like the paralysis wore off.” She gave her axe an experimental swing. “Don’t let it cut you.” 

“ _ GRAAAH! _ ”

“Great,” Irina muttered and turned to her father, “it’s coming back down. There’s no time to plan, so just-”

“-Follow me.” They finished the sentence at the same time. When the demonic beast was in sight again, they were already moving to counter it. Felix dashed in first with a flurry of sword swipes—more ichor oozed from its chest as Irina followed up her father’s attack with a series of swift stabs to the demon's chest. Their enemy was just mildly annoyed. 

Clearly, the two of them needed to hit it harder. Without speaking a single word, Irina and Felix’s attacks began blending into each other: their swords worked in fluid motions to repeatedly slice any area of the demon’s skin that was exposed. Felix stabbed his blade right through their opponent’s abdomen; he was angled perfectly for Irina to jump onto his back and use the lift to pierce the creature’s skull. Slowly but surely, it was tiring. 

Since it had its hands full dealing with the Fraldarius duo, Emilia had more than enough time to hit the thing with a Nosferatu and drain its energy to heal her shoulder wound. Irina and Felix halted their assault to give her an opening: one which she happily took. Emilia was all too glad to charge forward and use her waraxe to cleave their foe’s torso apart from its legs. To their immense dismay, it’s body parts were able to move independently. 

“What the everloving shit is going on?!” Three arrows were loosed in rapid succession, each embedding themselves in the demon’s head. It was very much still alive. Bran leapt down from his perch and joined his comrades. 

“What are you- where have you  _ been _ \- forget it.” Emilia decided it would be for the best to ask questions later. A pair of legs kicked at her while the severed torso still made swipes at Felix. “This is ridiculous. Do you have fire arrows on you?” 

“One sec!” Bran retrieved flint and the other necessities from his belt pouches, started a blaze, and launched flaming arrows like there was no tomorrow. “ _ Fucking _ die!”

Many,  _ many _ arrows later, when corrupted flesh had turned to ash, the legs and arms finally ceased their squirming. Everyone present sighed. Then, Irina and Felix rounded on each other. 

“What was your form during that downward swing- were you trying to take a claw to the eye?!” 

“Says the old man who slashed at it like he was cutting grass! Your stance wasn’t stable  _ at all! _ ”

“Funny you should mention that considering how  _ slow _ your side steps were.” 

After several more biting criticisms, the pair calmed down. Felix patted his daughter’s head with a small smile and pulled her into a fierce hug. “I love you,  _ idiot _ , so don’t you  _ dare _ die.” 

Irina squeezed him tightly. “If  _ you _ die, I’ll find a way to bring you back so I can kill you myself.” 

A smirk overtook Emilia’s face. Bran shuffled awkwardly. “I’ll, um, get a bucket and a shovel? Clean this up?” he suggested.

“There’s no time for that. We’re  _ under attack _ .”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

___

The intruder in the marketplace had proven too much for the monastery guards. Singed body parts littered the area when Mathilda, Linhardt, and Annette arrived on the scene. Their opponent was the most grotesque thing Mathilda had ever laid eyes on. It had three glassy spider-like eyes and two sets of jaws—one within the other. Insect appendages radiating dark magic sprouted from its skeletal back. The thing stood on Mantis legs, and its hulking arms were outstretched in a silent challenge.

“This looks,” green at the gills, Linhardt made it a point to avoid looking at any bodies, “bothersome.” 

Annette swallowed. “We’ll just have to manage.” 

“What’s our battle plan?” Mathilda pounded her gauntlets together in anticipation: she was using Breaker and Biter for the first time in a while—the first time since- Mathilda shook her head. She couldn’t get distracted by that right now. 

“We need to know what it’s capable of-” Annette jumped away from a blast of red-tinged energy. It resembled blood more than any spell she’d ever seen. “What kind of magic is that?!” 

“I get the feeling that we don’t wanna know.” Mathilda leapt down the steps and took cover behind an abandoned stall. “I could try drawing its attention- _holy_ _shit_!” Part of her wooden shelter disintegrated upon contact with projectile acid blood—the resulting stench was indescribable. 

Annette gave Linhardt a cursory glance and, yep, he looked too put off by the carnage to do much of anything: it had been years since the man had needed to be on a battlefield and his hemophobia had clearly kicked in full force. “Mathilda, I’ll cover you!” She cast Sagittae, and a volley of light arrows barreled toward the demon. It conjured a liquid shield to deflect them. Upon closer inspection, it was drawing the liquid magic from its own body: truly, an unsettling sight. 

Mathilda rolled between stands, progressively getting closer to her quarry. Once she was finally within range, she unleashed a barrage of punches to the beast’s sickly torso. It reeled backward, but drew upon the blood from its new wounds. With more ammunition, it launched a jet stream powerful enough to upturn stone at Mathilda’s feet.

She ducked under and leapt over the blasts of magic it lobbed at her, but when Mathilda was close enough to land another hit-

_ The least you could do is put up a decent fight _ .

Though she knew the voice had come from within her own head, it was impossible to stop herself from frantically glancing around, expecting Eris to pop up at any moment and beat her into a useless state of submission. In the midst of her panic, crimson tendrils wrapped around her body and dangled her in the air as though testing out a new toy. Their hold tightened and it wasn’t long before the breath was being forced from Mathilda’s lungs. 

As the world faded to blackness, Mathilda’s captor abruptly dropped her to the cobblestones. Though coughing violently, she heard an indignant Linhardt as he approached her: “ _ You do not touch my daughter _ .” 

With a flick of his wrist and the snap of Annette’s fingers behind him, the flames of Bolganone rose up with the windstorm of Excalibur to engulf the hellish beast. It was completely incinerated, and only ashen clumps of flesh were left in the monster’s wake. 

Mathilda scrambled to get up, self-anger filling her veins. Eris had rendered her useless again, and he hadn’t even been here. When was she going to get over that loss? It was hardly the first time she’d almost died over the course of their adventure. “We should go back to the monastery—see if anyone else needs help.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t end up being unable to help  _ anyone _ yet again. “Uh, thanks for saving me.”

Linhardt grabbed Mathilda’s wrist and pulled her into an unyielding embrace. She felt tears on her forehead, and Mathilda was quick to return the gesture with equal fervor. Neither of them paid attention to how long they stood in each other’s arms—they existed in the moment.

Annette let them have their moment, only clearing her throat to gain their attention after several minutes had passed. “Let’s head back.”

___

3rd of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Kingdom Territories, Castle Fhirdiad—

No sooner had the words left the guard’s mouth than Dimitri was sprinting down the halls to the main gate. He pushed his way between onlookers and soldiers until he saw it with his own eyes: Vera and one other girl, looking worse for wear, behind a snarling wolf.

The wolf was far bigger than it should have been—the size of a pony if not larger. Soldiers readied their weapons, and the creature prepared to lunge. Dimitri couldn’t help noticing the way the animal refused to let any of them do much as look at the girls for too long. In fact, it appeared as though it was guarding them. 

“Stand down.” Somehow, even amidst the bewildered glances of his guards, Dimitri felt certain it was the right order to give. 

Once all spears had been lowered, the canine actually nodded and, in a glimmer of golden light, turned into a tired young man. Well,  _ that _ was a new one. Before Dimitri could utter a syllable, the shapeshifter collapsed at Vera’s feet—most likely from exhaustion given the black smeared below his eyes and trembling limbs.

Dimitri wasted no time lifting Vera into his arms. He paused when she stirred. It occurred to him that she had only gotten this hurt, had only left in the first place, to get away from  _ him _ . Bile threatened to creep up his throat: what right did he have to be holding her? 

“P…” Vera blinked, her gaze unfocused and frighteningly vacant. “Papa?”

Dimitri’s heart did somersaults and tears welled in his eye. Maybe, against all hope and reason, Vera didn’t hate him? But no, that was for later; right now, these children were in dire need of medical attention.

“Call for a doctor!” Dimitri bellowed. “Put them in guest rooms. I  _ don’t care  _ about the security risks- do it.”

Everyone scrambled to comply. Multiple healers were hurried outside and piled the other three of them onto stretchers before rushing for the castle’s sick bay. The king was right behind them every step of the way, and the blood froze in his veins when a woman began examining Vera. Her back was marred with a horrific combination of burn marks and blackened bruises. 

“ _ Oh dear Goddess- _ I need vulneraries!” the healer shouted. 

Someone tapped his shoulder. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we must ask you to leave.” 

“There… There must be  _ something  _ I can do-”

“ _ Please _ . We need all the room we can get.” 

In a haze, Dimitri was led into the hall, lost as to what to do with himself. Like a mantra, Dimitri reminded himself over and over that Vera was alive, and that all he could do now was wait.

Vera was alive and, as he’d learned in a recent letter from Byleth, Nikolai was safe and sound as well. Miraculously, all of the children were in one piece. He would have run to the monastery at the news if not for Byleth urging him to stay in the Kingdom in case Vera turned up in the area—seeing as her prediction had come true, he was glad he’d listened. 

Hours passed, and his mind wandered between Vera’s condition and the rest of his family: his daughter had been brutalized, his son was assuredly agonizing over her absence, and his wife had been left to manage the mess. All because he’d descended into madness all those years ago. He hadn’t been so blind as to think the past wouldn’t catch up with him, but he’d foolishly assumed the consequences would be his alone. Now his loved ones were paying the price. 

A light knock, startlingly loud in the stillness, took Dimitri out of his increasingly dark thoughts. “Y-Yes?” He smoothed his clothes in a half-hearted attempt to appear presentable.

An orderly poked her head around the ajar door. “She is awake now, Your Majesty.” 

In a flurry of frantic movement, Dimitri was out of his chair and in the infirmary. Vera leaned against the headboard barely awake, blinking the drowsiness from her eyes. 

As soon as her father entered her line of sight, she froze. In that moment, she realized it may have been wise to have followed Maura’s advice and prepared words in advance. “... Good afternoon, Father?” It sounded more like a question than a greeting. “I, uh, hope you’ve been well. It looks like you did something with your hair.” This couldn’t have been going worse. Since when was small talk something she bothered initiating? 

“Oh, thank you,” Dimitri stumbled, “And you look…” Like she’d been dragged down a mountain ass-backwards. “You look healthy?”

Now more than ever their similarities were downright painful. Vera resisted the urge to cringe. Then she remembered her companions and bolted to her feet. “Maura, Bakari-”

“They are perfectly fine.” Dimitri should have probably asked who they were, but, at that moment, his daughter was the most important person in his life. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright. It’s,” she ignored the pain in her back from her sudden movement, “manageable.” Right as Vera said that, her legs nearly buckled beneath her, and she had to grip the edge of the bed to keep from falling. 

“Um, clearly…” Move on, talk about  _ something _ . “You’ll be relieved to know your brother and the others have made it back to Garreg Mach. They’re perfectly fine,” he added at her visible pang of concern.

She almost cried at the news: even with her distraction, there had been no certainties that her friends would be safe. Hearing that her decision had made a difference gave her some semblance of joy. “Thank,” Vera wiped her eyes, “the Goddess.” 

Dimitri desperately wished to hug her, but something told him the time wasn’t right. “So… on that note, what, um, what have you been up to?”

“I was, uh, just…” She took a series of deep breaths and proceeded to blurt everything out. “Okay, we ran away because it turns you were wrong and the Agarthans very much exist and they’re plotting the destruction of Fódlan and let’s just leave it there because I doubt either of us wants to talk about the  _ other _ reason why we left.” 

“Mhm. Right, of course. How’s…  _ that _ been going?”

“I mean, aside from the ambush and torture, decently well I guess?” 

“Tor- W-What.”

She really,  _ really _ shouldn't have mentioned that. “I- uh- you misheard me.” 

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

Upon returning to Garreg Mach, Byleth was met with the sight of the utter destruction that had beset the place in her absence. Because,  _ of course _ this would happen while she was gone. Seteth and Flayn grimaced on either side of her, and the elder of the two pulled an orderly aside to ask for details. 

“It seems,” Shamir emerged from behind the archbishop, “the spies didn’t take kindly to being found out.”

Byleth sighed. “Thank you for your assistance with everything.”

“If I had done my job properly, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You couldn’t have predicted this. You’ve been doing all you can.”

Before Shamir could respond, Caspar sprinted onto the scene with a shout of, “WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?” Ashe and Ingrid weren’t far behind, begging him to remain calm. A young girl shuffled awkwardly beside them. 

“Caspar, dear, let’s not lose our heads. I’m sure Mattie and Lin are fine.”

“WHERE IS MY HUSBAND? WHERE IS MY CHILD?”

“Oh for Goddess’ sake, Caspar,” Ingrid rubbed her temples, “Just ask around like a normal, rational human.”

“Pardon me,” Lilian nervously tugged at her sleeves, “where should I go?” 

Ingrid squeezed her shoulder and offered her best reassuring smile. “I saw some civilians congregating in the Reception Hall. Can you show her the way, Ashe? I need to find my own family.”

“Certainly.” Ashe took her hand, then glanced back at Caspar. “Come get me if you find Mattie and Lin!” Caspar had already started asking anyone he saw for their whereabouts. 

“Hey, Mom!” Iosif came running from the Dining Hall, grinning brilliantly. “Klem and Dad are fine,” he said with a quick hug. “We had to fight a hellspawn which I ended up embracing to death. Anyway, how was your trip?” 

“... I’m sorry, WHAT.” 

___


	21. Re-Involvement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids get back in on the action, and an underground plan is hatched.

2nd of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, Officers Academy—

After a good amount of rubble and carnage had been cleared away, Annette and Linhardt herded their companions into an unoccupied room. 

“That was,” Linhardt debated something for a moment, “unexpected, but a definite possibility that we should have accounted for.”

Annette tilted her head from side to side. “Contradictory, but, I agree nonetheless.”

“Anywho, the corrupting force contained within the replicated crest stones is even greater I imagined—those monsters possessed far more agency than a run of the mill demonic beast.”

“But is that as a result of these particular stones? At first glance, they look no different than the ones we’ve seen before…”

“Hmm. At first, I assumed the Agarthans intended to use them as some sort of power source for weaponry—much like we do. However, given the variety and power of beasts they can create, perhaps they’re meant to bolster their soldiers.” 

“There were three different types of monsters that attacked us. It’s more than likely that there are even more variants—each with their own array of unique abilities.”

“So…” Caspar nodded along, “if I’ve been paying attention—and I’ve been trying my damndest—you’re saying that this is a game changer, and we’re screwed.”

“Not necessarily,” Linhardt assured him.

“That’s not much better, Lin.”

“WHERE IS MY SON?!” The sound of two frantic parents charging through the monastery like overly energetic bulls made everyone present jump. 

“Ah,” Byleth realized, “that would be Leonie and Raphael. I should have realized this would happen when I wrote to her.”

“Um, are you sure it’ll be okay to…  _ walk down the halls _ with them in this state?” Ingrid asked, peering around the corner in search of the dynamic parental duo. 

“They’ll be fine,” the Archbishop smiled a bit, “have you forgotten who they are?” 

Felix arched a brow. “I haven’t. And on that note, will  _ their son _ be alright?”

___

“WHERE IS MY SON?!”

Bran’s stomach sank when he heard his mother’s voice echoing throughout the monastery. 

Emilia quirked a brow at him. “I trust you heard that as well—you can leave if need be.” She had just finished stitching up a knight’s wound and proceeded to bandage it. 

“Thank you.  _ So  _ much.” He was already out of the window and descending the building via the gutter. In truth, Bran knew that his actions were futile—not even the Goddess could save him from Leonie. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t  _ try _ escaping his mother’s wrath.

“ _ BRAN KIRSTEN _ !” Leonie only got louder when she spotted her missing child clinging to the wall of the monastery. “GET THE FUCK OVER HERE THIS FUCKING INSTANT!” She didn’t give him a chance to comply, instead opting to sprint to him as quickly as humanly possible. Raphael concluded it would be best to let her handle things for now. 

“SORRY, CAN’T HEAR YOU,” Bran cried as he sprinted across the Officers Academy. He needed to find some cover; his eyes darted between buildings and crates for the best possible hiding place. In his panic, he collided with Kliment. Bran took his friend by the shoulders, desperation in his eyes. “Hide me.  _ PLEASE _ .”

Kliment was quick to catch on to his plight: however, that didn’t make him particularly sympathetic. “What did you  _ think _ would happen when you left without saying anything? My mother was upset as well. And,” he glanced over Bran’s shoulder, “I’m afraid you don’t have time to hide.”

In a moment of brilliance, Bran remembered that Kliment rode a wyvern, and that wyverns stayed in the  _ stables _ . “That’s the LAST place they’d look for me!” With that, Bran took off in the opposite direction. 

“I wouldn’t!” Kliment warned, knowing what conclusion the archer had come to. “Fenya’s  _ rather _ cross with you!” The wyvern had been  _ very _ annoyed by Bran jostling her around in the air. 

Once he’d reached his destination, Bran swan dived into a pile of hay. Not a second later, the straw covering his head was blown away—in his immediate field of vision was a displeased Fenya. “F-Fine! I’ll move to the next one over!” And so he leapt into another hay bundle. 

“...” The wyvern continued to glare at him. She huffed and turned away, only to spot a frenzied woman whipping her head from side to side. Fenya looked from the cowering boy, to the woman and back again. Then, with the wyvern equivalent of a shiteating grin, she roared. 

“SCREW YOOOOOOOU!” Bran dove over a stable door and stumbled toward the greenhouse. A sturdy body tackled him to the ground; after a few seconds of rolling around, a foot was planted firmly against his chest. He looked up to find an utterly enraged Leonie staring down at him. 

“Do you,” her tone had become chillingly quiet, “have  _ any _ idea what the  _ fuck _ it feels like to spend  _ weeks _ with no  _ fucking  _ clue where your  _ child _ is?”

Bran scrunched his eyes shut. “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry!”

Leonie abruptly pulled him into a tight hug. “Why would you just-” she had to breathe to stop herself from tearing up, “I was worried, your father was worried, the twins wouldn’t stop crying, Nora had a panic attack—we thought you might be hurt, or kidnapped, or lying dead in a goddamn ditch!”

Trembling in her arms, Bran’s voice hitched with his crying. “ _ I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry _ -”

“What are you sorry for?!” She gripped him by the shoulders and shook him. “Running away, not bothering to say jackshit before you left, or causing us weeks of distress?!”

“ _ Being boooooooooooorn _ !” Bran threw his head back and bawled like a newborn.

With a heavy sigh, Leonie held Bran even closer and rubbed his back. “Don’t apologize for- I’m pissed because we  _ missed you, damnit _ .”

“ _ M-Made you saaaaad _ !  _ So stupid, stupid, I’m sorry _ -”

Raphael lifted both his wife and child in a borderline crushing embrace. “Quit apologizing—we’re just glad to have you back.”

Despite their reassuring words, Bran physically couldn’t stop himself. He buried his face in  _ someone’s _ shoulder, crying and apologizing until his throat was raw. When he was finally done, Bran didn’t dare look up at his parents; he didn’t want to see the disappointment in their eyes.

“Hey,” Raphael ruffled his son’s hair, “I hear you went off on some grand old adventure! What was that like?” 

___

—Kingdom Territories, Castle Fhirdiad—

“Uh, you misheard me.” 

“No, I’m  _ positive  _ I didn’t,” Dimitri replied in a no-nonsense tone.

Vera tugged nervously on her hair. “It wasn’t  _ that _ bad. They put Maura through the same thing.” 

“ _ Not that _ \-  _ Someone hurt my baby girl, and you think I can just _ …  _ shake it off _ ?” His shoulders trembled and his knuckles turned bright white.

The princess blinked and sputtered at the nickname—it had been years since he called her that. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. “I-I know you’re upset, but acting out of anger won’t help either of us right now.” 

Dimitri’s head fell into his hands. “Goddess, I’ve failed you,” he murmured, voice quivering.

She hesitated before reaching out and taking his hand. “You’ve made… mistakes, but you haven’t _failed_ _me_.” 

Her father barked a hollow laugh. “Mistakes… Murders,  _ madness _ , you mean.” Dimitri pulled his hair so roughly that Vera feared he would tear his scalp. “I lied, hid the truth from you. “If I had- I… I’m so, so, so  _ sorry _ …”

_ ‘To hell with everything _ , _ ’ _ Vera thought before throwing herself into his arms; in spite of everything, she loved her father too much to stand by and watch him sink into misery. “I know you are.”

Dimitri seemed to shrink. “I don’t deserve this… You, your brother, Byleth. Claude was right, always has been. I deserve whatever hell awaits me.”

Vera’s hold tightened and she leaned against his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that,  _ please _ . You can’t change the past, but life right now isn’t about the past. It’s about what you choose to do in this moment.” 

He shook his head. “Long ago, I told your mother… that if she married me, she’d be marrying a monster-” he heaved a broken sob.

“Deserve it or not,” she grabbed his face and made him look her in the eye, “you are a _ king,  _ a _ husband,  _ and a _ father _ . The people you lead, mother, Nikolai and I—we aren’t going to abandon you to the demons of your failures.” 

“I’ve continuously proven to be horrible in all three of those positions.” He stood on unsteady legs. In the light, Dimitri’s remaining eye was puffy and his were cheeks red. “No, Vera. I- I’ll let you rest.” 

“Wait- I…” Vera bit her lip. “It would be nice to have a familiar face nearby. I’m still rather shaken up. Can you talk to me? Uh, about anything. I just need to hear a comforting voice.” 

After a long, deathly quiet moment, Dimitri returned to his chair and stared holes into the floor. When he spoke, he wore a small, melancholic smile. “In school, I… knew a boy that was, um, an enigma. You could never tell how he truly felt, let alone if his smile was genuine. But he had… emeralds for eyes, and an accepting heart that sheltered those close to him.”

With a yawn, Vera nodded tiredly and was quick to drift into a light, easy sleep. 

“And I drove him away,” he whispered, “like I did you and your brother.”

On his way out of the room, the green-haired girl who had been passed out beside his daughter approached him. Given her condition, Dimitri was amazed that she was capable of standing. “Should you be moving around yet?” 

“I’ll return to resting in a moment. First, there is something of utmost importance you must be made aware of. You can expect a visit from Petra sometime within the near future.” 

Dimitri’s brain shut down. “P… Petra? Petra Macneary?”

“Yes. In other words, my mother. It has been over a week since I last wrote to her. She has likely assumed that something is wrong.”

“Petra is…  _ alive _ ?”

The girl blinked at him. “Who did you believe was running Brigid all this time?”

“We’ve not heard anything from Brigid. I assumed it was because we  _ killed their princess _ ...”

“It very much isn’t. To get back to the point, my mother is going to make an appearance. I thought it would behoove you to know.” Then, she strode back in the direction of her guest room. 

Approximately three minutes of deep breathing exercises later, Dimitri decided that it would be best for him to lie down—today had been an ordeal.

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

“Alright,” Nikolai began, “we have to persuade them to let us into their meetings.”

Everyone immediately turned to Iosif. 

The redhead offered a listless shrug. “I have no idea what you’re looking at me for.”

“Yes you do.” Irina crossed her arms. “We need your silver tongue.”

“There’s no silver tongue here. I am but a man—one entirely unable to fulfill your wishes,” Iosif placed a hand over his heart, “though I wish I could.”

“Cut the theatrics.” Emilia said, tone dry as a desert, “We need your help.” 

Iosif’s face darkened and became purely analytical. “Which I should offer because…” 

“It’s the right thing to do,” Mathilda countered. 

“The  _ right thing? _ ” He sounded utterly flat. “That’s what you’re calling it? Need I remind you that last time we ran off to do the ‘right thing’ it ended horribly? Or that the stunt you pulled at Shambhala was what spurred the Agarthans to action in the first place?  _ Or _ that the princess has been kidnapped alongside the only person among us who had any idea what the fuck they were doing? You are calling that  _ shit show _ the  _ right thing? _ ”

Kliment took his brother by the arm, his expression sincere. “Iosif, please.” He bowed his head. “I know you care about this just as much as we do.” 

“ _ Siiiiiiiigh _ .” Iosif stood and made a show of stretching. He  _ was _ desperate to get eyes on Agarthan movements again. “Give me fifteen minutes.” 

___

—15 minutes later on the dot—

Iosif bowed dramatically. “It has been done.”

“Truly, you are a master wordsmith,” Irina remarked, visibly impressed.

“I do what I can to please.” 

Mathilda tackled Iosif in a giddy hug. “How’d you do it?”

“Uh-uh! A magician never reveals his secrets- blackmail.”

Emilia blinked. “Huh. I probably shouldn’t be surprised, but… huh.”

“You wouldn’t…  _ actually _ blackmail them. Right?” Mathilda chewed her lip. “I mean, this is my Dads we’re talking about-”

Iosif didn’t hesitate to cut in. “I would blackmail anyone if push came to shove.” Part of him cringed at the brutal honesty; it wasn’t his style, but if both his brother and father were insisting he be more open then… he’d see how long it took for them to realize that mistake. 

Kliment swallowed. “At least one of us is willing to, um, play dirty.” He managed a warm smile. “Thanks, big bro.” 

Without warning, the Crest of Flames surged to life and Nikolai jumped at least five feet into the air. “What the-?!” This time, he hadn’t had a vision of oncoming danger, just a potentially startling event. 

Irina drew her sword. “What’s happening?”

“ _ Nikolai! _ ” Byleth practically charged toward them. “I just received word: Vera’s  _ alive _ !”

___

—Kingdom Territory, Underneath Fraldarius Lands—

“Well, that was bracing!” sighed Callister, pale and sweaty yet still wearing a broad grin.

“One hundred of us,” Sinthia’s eyes had long since glazed over: she’d counted and recounted the mangled bodies that had served as ritual fodder until the number was beyond certain, “for ten of them.” 

“Don’t sound so mopey. If you want to win, you need to sacrifice a few pawns.”

“Since when have you ever cared for victory?” Her voice was lifeless. 

“Since never. But this was  _ boatloads  _ of fun!” Callister giggled. “You’ve been like this since you were a child—so unwilling to make tough decisions.” 

Sinthia continued to stare at the massacre their leader had arranged; then, she actually laughed. “You’re right, you know. Some of them were still clinging to life when we got here—barely, but still. I could have saved those few who were alive instead of acting as some mindless puppet.”

“Mindless puppets aren’t bothered by a niggling conscience.” Callister poked her temple. “Take it from me kid—you’re better off without it.” 

“Isn’t it,” she turned her gaze to the spirits they had slaved to summon, “rather ridiculous to call upon the ancestors of those we so detest?” 

“Oh, without a doubt. But if it works it works.” The old mage shrugged. “Our victory is all but assured. Woo. Go team.”

“Ugh.” Sinthia sighed. “We should leave before Eris and Minerva assume you’ve killed me and harvested my organs for sport.”

“GASP! Have you been reading my diary?!”

She didn’t bother acknowledging that. Instead, Sinthia simply shoved open the darkened chamber’s doors—only to be confronted with someone  _ far _ less tolerable than Callister. 

“Have you finished yet?” A parchment-pale woman with a chilling silver glare loomed over them. 

“Yes,” Sinthia fought the desire to shove her aside, “all ten elites have been summoned, and their wills bound.”

“Surprising. I had my doubts whether you’d be capable of executing such a crucial task. For once, you have done well, Sinthia.” 

The familiar sound of Eris and Minerva bickering cut through the tense atmosphere. “I swear, Minerva, too much time has passed. Something must have happened to-  _ Sinthia _ !” Eris didn’t hesitate to bound toward her once she was within his line of sight. 

Minerva, on the other hand, froze up when she rounded the corner. Eventually, she managed a stiff bow. “Lady Persephone: you grace us with your presence.”

Seeing Persephone gaze upon those two made Sinthia shudder: the cruel promises lurking within her eyes served as a harsh reminder of why she hadn’t hesitated to follow orders. 

“Did I give you  _ permission  _ to intrude?” Persephone’s tone was as drier than sand and more frigid than ice.

“Forgive them,” Sinthia moved Eris behind her, “they were merely concerned for my well-being.”

“Mm.” Persephone swept past them, her attention fixed on her new servants. “See yourselves out.”

Callister was honestly a bit surprised when Sinthia hauled him out alongside Eris and Minerva. Really, it was almost enough to make him tear up. “Aw, worried that your old mentor can’t hold his own, are you?”

“Shut up, don’t make me regret this.” She spun around to Minerva and Eris. “I  _ told you _ to stay outside! That was incredibly foolish of you! What if-” She took a deep breath and placed her hands on their shoulders. “ _ Please _ , listen to me.”

Minerva winced. “My apologies, milady. I was just so happy to see you unharmed: I forgot myself. It won’t happen again.”

Eris surged forward and embraced her around the waist. “I’m sorry… I was terrified that-” He cut himself off with a shaky breath.

“It’s fine.” Sinthia rubbed his back. “You just have to remember to be careful, that’s all.” She glanced behind them to ensure that Persephone hadn’t decided to follow. Then, hands shaking, she motioned the other three to follow her into a secluded room. “I’m going to disclose something rather dire.”

“Ooooh, sounds promising!” Callister rubbed his hands together. “Lay it on us, dear.”

“During the ritual, I  _ should _ have saved those who were still alive,” she gulped, “instead, I…” Sinthia looked to Callister, “You must have felt that something was off. Those spirits aren’t entirely without will.”

An eerie, toothy grin overtook Callister’s face. “You traitorous little rascal!” he purred, “Wherever you’re going with this, count me in! It’ll be a  _ gas _ !”

“Milady,” Minerva sidled up to Sinthia, “is it entirely wise to disclose this to  _ him _ ?”

“Things should prove more than entertaining enough for him to lend his assistance,” she assured her. “Besides, he would have figured me out sooner or later.”

“You flatter me, Sinthy. But she is correct.” Callister drew an ‘X’ over his chest. “I swear I won’t betray you—cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye! Speaking of assistance,  _ oh Eskandaaaaaar _ !”

“Callister, I doubt he’s close enough to hear you-”

The trickster in question was swift to teleport before them. He idly twirled his rapier , expression somewhat miffed. “For the love of-  _ what _ ?” 

Eris groaned. “Are you  _ always _ lurking somewhere nearby?” 

“I’ll have you know I have better things to do than follow you around.” Eskandar hissed. “Scores of ladies would  _ kill  _ for an evening with the debonair Eskandar! But the old bastard hexed me: I can’t  _ not _ come when called.” 

Minerva massaged her temples. “Great. Just great.”

___

—Kingdom Territories, Castle Fhirdiad—

The harshly sterile scent of medicine made Bakari scramble to sit up and take in his surroundings: the men and women who he guessed had treated him quickly backed away and gave him as much room as possible. A few were fearful and some blatantly disdainful, but none were openly hostile. That was good enough for him. However, on closer inspection, there were armed guards lingering in the room, hands at their weapons as though anticipating an attack. He bit back a snarl, and slowly lowered himself so he was once again laying down. That triggered a wave of palpable relief.

“Just lemme sleep,” he mumbled, rolling onto his side. “Thanks.”

One of the maids gasped over-dramatically. “H-He can  _ talk _ !”

Bakari’s ears twitched. “If you could  _ not _ shout, that would be great.” 

“Eeeep! I-I’m so sorry!” She hastened to bow, her face burning.

He honestly had no idea how to react to  _ that _ one. “It’s… fine. I’m not mad… promise.”

“Y-You’re not? Wel… thank you, young master!”

Now the room was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He could deal with a lot of things, but fear driven fealty wasn’t one of them. “I’m, uh, gonna go. Outside, I mean.” 

“But your injuries-”

Bakari dodged past the crowd of onlookers and stumbled out into the hall—only to be confronted by the sheer expanse of the castle. Whatever. If he didn’t find the stairs he’d jump out of a window; he couldn’t stay in here any longer. “Where in the world  _ are  _ those two?” he wondered aloud. “And why the hell do they need such a  _ huge _ place to live?”

___


	22. It Finally Begins to Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets, secrets are no fun. Unless you’re a certain von Vestra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {} = speaking in Brigid tongue.

3rd of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Kingdom Territories, Castle Fhirdiad—

When Dimitri went to check on Vera that morning, he didn’t expect to see the same giant wolf from yesterday sleeping on her bed. Then he remembered that this animal was actually a young man which only served to confuse him further. The wolf nudged Vera’s arm with one of its massive paws: he was aware of Dimitri’s presence without even opening an eye. 

“Are you gonna stand there staring all morning, or do you plan on saying something?”

He just barely managed not to stumble back in surprise. “I just figured I shouldn’t wake either of you.”

“It’s a bit late for that: I heard you coming down the hall.” 

Vera groggily sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Good morning, Bakari.” She muttered, a yawn overlaying her words. Vera caught a glimpse of her father and froze. “... Good morning.”

“Um, yes, good morning.” A painfully awkward pause. “Oh! Your brother has received word that you are alive and well.”

“That’s good.” She frowned—it was undeniable that her absence had caused her friends, brother, and mother a hefty amount of distress. Nikolai would likely lecture her until her ears fell off, but the thought brought a fond smile to her face. 

“Would either of you care for some breakfast?”

“Do you have anything raw?” Bakari asked. “I prefer my meals still bloody if possible.”

“You… want something- Er, yes I can ask the staff if they can-”

Bakari gazed tiredly at him. “That was a joke.” 

“Oh. Um, haha?” Goddess, Dimitri wished the floor would swallow him up.

Vera cleared her throat and shuffled off the bed. “I’ll, uh, accompany you. I’d like the chance to stretch my legs.” 

Dimitri breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear it.” He turned to the shapeshifter. “Should breakfast be sent up to you?”

“That’d be nice.” Within seconds, Bakari had drifted back into a restful slumber.

The walk downstairs into the kitchen was nothing short of dreadful. Neither Vera nor Dimitri had any idea how to actually go about conversing. The princess knew they’d have to address _everything_ at some point, but thinking about that eventual discussion made her stomach ache. 

“I don’t hate you!” she blurted. Oh, why the fuck had she said that?

“That’s,” something told him this was simply a desperate attempt to break the ice, “good to know.” 

“I-I mean,” Vera knew there was no way to salvage that. “I don’t know what I mean…” she muttered, deciding to give up on conversing. 

Dimitri wrung his hands. “That’s alright.” He racked his brains for some way to respond. “All that matters is that you’re on the mend.”

“Good morning, friend Dimitri!” 

“Good morning, Petra- BAH!” Dimitri practically jumped out of his skin—grinning and sitting cross-legged in front of his throne was the queen of Brigid, Petra. If he hadn’t gotten a handle on his visions of the dead years ago, Dimitri would have assumed her to be yet another spirit come to torment him. But no, Maura had told him that her mother, Petra Macneary, would be arriving soon to collect her.

Vera glanced between her thoroughly startled father and the burgundy-haired woman who now stood to greet them. The name Petra was vaguely familiar- ah. She’d seen it in Hubert von Vestra’s notes, but couldn’t quite recall the context. Well, seeing as though Dimitri’s immediate reaction hadn’t been to alert security, it was likely that Petra’s friendliness could be taken at face value. 

She stepped forward and quickly recognized the clothes adorning their new companion as both foreign and lavish—years of etiquette made her dip into a curtsy. “Good morning. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” 

Petra chuckled and pulled Vera into a bear hug. “I am glad to know Dimitri’s daughter! You appear much- er, _very_ beautiful!”

“Oh, thank you. You’re quite stunning yourself.” It was surprising how easy it was for her to settle back into the role of Fódlan’s princess—one night in the castle had stripped away weeks of removing from safe house to safe house and being made prisoner. “Am I correct in assuming that you’re a friend of-” she would have said father had the word not hitched in her throat, “His Majesty?” 

Dimitri turned as pale as a sheet, gawking at the two of them. “F-Friend…?”

“Yes.” Petra didn’t hesitate to hug him as well. “Friend.”

The king of Fódlan bit down on his lip and reciprocated the gesture, his shoulders shaking as he fought the urge to cry. “Th… Thank you…” 

“Now,” Petra gave him another squeeze before pulling away, “I must be finding my daughter—I was receiving word that she is here.” 

“You have a daughter as well?” Vera asked. 

“Wait,” Dimitri shook his head, “how did you learn her location?”

“I am having my ways: there are consultants in Fódlan who were working with me.” 

“That is… somewhat disturbing. But, yes, I have seen your daughter—I can take you to her.”

The queen linked arms with him. “That would be giving me great joy!”

“Hold on, you’ve already met her- _How_?”

Dimitri stared at her, expression blank. “Dear… you’ve met her too.”

Vera stared back at him. Her face paled as the realization dawned on her: the two were nothing alike. “Maura is-”

Petra bobbed her head, smiling sunnily. “The princess of Brigid!”

“... Pardon me?” 

“My precious daughter, Maura, is next to be queen of Brigid!”

Out of all the things that Maura had neglected to tell her over the course of their traveling together, this in particular felt like the largest slap in the face of all time. “I see… Please excuse me for a moment.” Vera bowed, made a beeline to her bedroom, shut the door, and screamed into the first pillow she could get her hands on. Then, when she had somewhat calmed down, she opened the door and was met with none other than the apparent princess herself. 

Maura gave her a once over. “I assume you’ve met my mother. Her cheeriness can be a tad overbearing for some.” 

Vera’s eye twitched. “Why… did you never… _tell me_?”

“It was never relevant.” 

“Being royalty is _very_ relevant!”

“Oh, please.” Maura rolled her eyes. “What would have changed, had you known?”

The blonde opened her mouth to retort before considering Maura’s point. “Fair. But, _still_!”

“Has the way you view me been altered in any way?”

“Well… _no_ , but-”

“I appreciate you proving my point on my behalf.” Maura turned on her heel. “Now, If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I have to greet my darling mother. We have quite the bit of catching up to do.” She practically skipped down the hall. “Oh, Mother~!”

“... _What are you doing_ _in Fódlan_?!”

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery, The Officers Academy—

The revelation that Vera and Maura were alive had sent a wave of joyful relief crashing over everyone. Iosif and Mathilda decided that the best way to keep the newly lightened mood afloat would be to pull as many pranks as possible pranks. They had done everything from dumping Irina’s bed in the middle of the training grounds to rearranging Kliment’s dorm and drawing a smile on Emilia’s face. Nikolai and Bran were the only ones left on their list, and Mathilda had declared the former her personal target. While attempting to mask her shiteating grin, she knocked on the prince’s door.

“Who is it?”

“Your bestest friend in the whole wide world!”

“Emilia?”

“...Try again.”

“Kliment?”

“Fuck you.”

“That certainly isn’t a name.”

Mathilda kicked his door open. “You wound me.” 

“Oh, Mathilda!” Nikolai smiled from behind his textbook. “ _That’s_ who was at my door!”

“And here I was about to give you a _present_ ,” she crossed her arms, “hmph!” 

Nikolai pulled her into a hug. “Pleeease, Mattie?”

“Hmmmmm… Fine. Here you go.” Mathilda handed him an envelope. “I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.” 

“Thank-” as soon as he opened it, a cloud of glitter exploded into his face and promptly whirled into every corner of his room, “you fucker.” 

Mathilda rolled on the ground, cackling like a witch. “I looooove yoooooou!”

“Then _why_.”

“Because I _looooove yoooou_!”

“This is not what love is.” 

“ _Yeeeeeees_!”

“No.”

Mathilda wiped the mirthful tears from her eyes. “Pffft. Don’t worry, the glitter will get rid of itself. It’s enchanted.” 

“Snk, you are… the _actual_ worst.”

She tried to reign in another outburst of laughter. “I didn’t come up with this one, so I’m the _second_ worst.” 

“As though that’s much better.” With a smirk, Nikolai flicked some glitter in her direction.

“Sooooo, now that we know Vera’s alive, do you have her lecture prepared yet? Because I have a few choice words of my own to offer. As does Emmy.” 

“Uuuugh!” Nikolai collapsed into his desk chair, a stress-free, boneless mess. “Goddess, I’d be jumping for joy if I had a modicum of energy left.” He wore a fond smile as he admired the sunny day outside his window. “Honestly… I don’t know what to do with myself!”

“I know the feeling,” Mathilda anxiously hopped from foot to foot, “I’m so damn happy she and Maura are alright, but it’s like—I don’t know—everything’s still on pause since they aren’t _here_ yet. I want to train, but all I can think about is them getting back,” she plopped onto the edge of Nikolai’s bed, “and that just makes me feel like I’m burning daylight. So yeah: _uuuugh_.” 

“Haha! For me, it’s a bit more euphoric than that, but I understand your plight.”

“Hey, I’m,” she looked away, “sorry if I’ve been kind of weird these past few days. I haven’t been there for you as much I should have.” 

The blonde took her hand. “Hey, Mattie.” When she turned to him, he offered her the warmest of smiles. “We’ve all been going through hard times—there’s nothing to feel guilty about. In truth, I think I needed some time to myself.”

She took comfort in seeing his emerald eyes once again illuminated by their typical joy. “Good to know.” Mathilda stood to stretch. “I have to go see how things went with Iosif and Bran.” 

“Oh no, what terrible thing have you done to him?”

“Nothing _too_ bad,” she grinned. “We may or may not have filled his room with an assortment of foods.” 

“That’s… just going to go to waste.”

“Hehehe. That’s what you think.” 

___

—Kingdom Territories, Under Fraldarius Lands—

“If you’re going to be antsy, could you do it five feet away from me?” Minerva groaned.

“Pft. I’m not antsy. Who’s antsy? I don’t know anyone named that. Dunno the meaning of the word.” Eris fidgeted like a child on a sugar high. He’d stepped on Minerva’s foot three times already.

“Secrets _always_ do this to you.”

“ _That’s_ not why I’m- I can keep my mouth shut.” Eris snapped, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Sinthia said she had an assignment specifically for me— _that’s_ what’s on my mind.”

Minerva raised a brow: their plan was still in its early stages and Sinthia had yet to inform _her_ about a specific course of action. “Huh.” 

Eris rounded on her. “What does _that_ mean?”

“It means ‘try not to screw up’.”

“I don’t _try_ , I _do_! I’d thank you to remember that, Minerva.”

“It’s nice to see you two so lively this early in the day!” Callister chirped. He was seated on the floor, a thick tome in his lap. 

“Remind me,” Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose, “why are you here?”

“Because, despite appearances, I happen to be the most strategically minded person who hasn’t latched themselves to Persephone.” Callister’s tone was disturbingly flat. “As well as one of the only people who didn’t blindly follow Thales before her.” 

“Uh…” Eris blinked, wide eyed at the warlock’s thorough analysis. “I think… she might have meant…” The boy could only gesture vaguely before slipping into bewildered silence. 

Callister shrugged listlessly and continued to wordlessly flip through the tome. “No reason.” He had somehow picked up on what Eris was trying to get across: ‘why was he in this specific location?’.

Minerva took an inconspicuous step closer to Eris. “We may be allies, but that doesn’t mean I _enjoy_ your company, old man.” 

“Mm.” He nodded and began writing something indecipherable in the margins of his book.

“Anywaaaay,” Minerva faced Eris again, frantic to change topics, “what is this mission our lady has tasked you with?”

“She didn’t tell me what it was,” Eris snapped back to being a bundle of nerves, “just that it would be vital.” 

“Wonderful. This bodes well for all of us.”

“ _Shut up_!” 

Callister slammed the book closed and got to his feet, lifeless in the way he started drifting down the hall. “It’ll work,” he muttered, “it’ll work just fine.”

“Well, isn’t he… optimistic,” Minerva whispered more than said. Whatever solemn mood that man was in, it was doing unpleasant things to her stomach. She never thought she’d find herself wishing for his obnoxiously upbeat sadism. 

“Ah, there you are.” Sinthia’s voice was like the eye of a storm: perfectly serene amidst whatever chaos was brewing around them. Eris and Minerva flocked to her side.

“My Lady,” Minerva bowed, “please explain why you’ve trusted this _boy_ with a vital-”

“I am no boy!” Eris seethed, his teeth bared.

“You turned fifteen two moons ago.”

“I AM NOT A-”

Sinthia held up a hand. “That is enough. Age doesn’t equate to ability.” She addressed Minerva. “You should know that given how young you are yourself. Now, might I be permitted to detail what I’m entrusting him with?”

“ _Please_ —nothing would make me happier.”

“Eris, your task is to get yourself captured.”

___

—Kingdom Territories, Castle Fhirdiad—

Petra had pulled Maura into the tightest of embraces the second she laid eyes on her. Surprisingly, Maura returned the gesture wholeheartedly. The two spent quite some time going back and forth in their native tongue, and Vera couldn’t stifle the burning curiosity she felt at seeing them interact. 

“{In your last letter, you told me everything in Brigid was running smoothly. I do hope that’s still the case.}” 

“{Indeed—there’s nothing significant to report, which is how I prefer things. But what of yourself? You stopped writing on such short notice!}”

“{Well, I was taken prisoner—it put the vast majority of my daily affairs on hold.}”

“{Captured? It isn’t like you to get caught. Who are these people that were able to subdue my daughter?}”

“{An underground society bent on the destruction of Fódlan—the ones written about in Father’s final request.}” 

“{Oh… _Again_?}”

“{Unfortunately. I would say we had things well in hand, but that would be a horrendous lie.}”

“Well,” Petra turned to the monarch and his daughter, “it appears that I will be staying!”

Dimitri gave her a concerned look. “Is it the best idea for the people of Brigid to go an unknown amount of time without their leader present?” 

“My youngest daughter will be more than capable of doing the leading in my absence.” 

“Pardon us for a moment,” Vera all but dragged Maura into the hall with her. “YOU HAVE A _SISTER_?” She was about ready to rip out clumps of her hair.

“Darling, we’ve already been over this,” Maura sighed. “You know nothing about my mother’s side of the family because they’ve never been relevant. They _still_ aren’t relevant, so you really should calm down.” 

“I’m so _very tired_ of all these secrets! How am I supposed to trust you-”

“You _aren’t_ supposed to trust someone you barely know the first thing about. What you know as of now is far more than I ever intended to tell you. Furthermore,” Maura’s eyes glinted with amusement, “you’re perfectly aware that you can rely on my abilities.” 

Vera massaged her temples.“Uggggh…” she detested it when Maura made sense despite how unendingly cryptic she was. 

“If you are quite done?”

With an eye roll from Vera, the two re-entered the throne room. 

Dimitri regarded his daughter with a bemused expression. “With this settled, I suggest we return to Garreg Mach.” Of course, that meant facing his son again; Dimitri would have to prepare himself for the worst possible reunion. 

A guard entered and bowed to Dimitri before immediately turning to Maura. “My lady, you have visitors.” 

Confusion etched its way across Dimitri and Vera’s faces, but Maura followed the soldier without protest and Petra didn’t hesitate to tag along. The royals looked to each other, shrugged, and caught up to the other three. They were led to a balcony—on it were two other individuals, one of whom was casually sipping a glass of wine. 

“Ah, Geneva,” Maura took the hand of her all too familiar associate with a smile, “I was wondering when you would make your triumphant return. And it’s ever so nice to see you again _Father_!”

Petra laughed, Dimitri blinked and stared, and Vera repeatedly opened and closed her mouth. The person standing there was most definitely _not_ Hubert von Vestra. 

“Darling,” the purple-haired man sighed and took another sip, “you know I can never be your father. You truly must stop referring to me as such.”

“A girl can dream. Were you able to complete that favor I asked of you?”

“More than easily. You network was hardly overrun—I only needed to trim a few loose ends. I _am_ Lord of the Underground, after all.” 

“You _still_ hold that title after all these years?” Dimitri couldn’t help smiling a bit. “I see you haven’t dulled with age, Yuri.” 

“Ha! Please Your Majesty, we can both see I haven’t aged a day.” Yuri smirked and flicked his hair over his shoulder. “Besides, there are always messes to clean up. But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Strangely enough, Yuri’s wit was only serving to lighten Dimitri’s mood. Perhaps it was because he had seen neither hide nor hair of the man in years. “It would seem you haven’t lost your sharp tongue either.” 

“I must be thanking you for your help in finding Maura!” Petra chimed in. “It was taking no time at all because of you.”

Yuri gave her a small smile. “It really wasn’t any trouble, dear.”

Maura tugged on his cape. “Are you _certain_ you can’t be my father?”

“I don’t think Petra would be terribly fond of me keeping you in Fódlan for even longer—your trips to Brigid are already few and far between.”

She sighed dramatically, but relinquished her hold on his cloak. “Drat.”

Geneva flipped through a small notebook filled with information she’d gathered from Yuri’s sources; when she found the page she was searching for, the girl all but shoved the book into Maura’s hands. ‘We have eyes on the Agarthans again,’ she signed. ‘The traitors were Cyrus and Bjorn. Their influence hadn’t spread too far.’

“Good, good,” Maura nodded, eyes looking over Geneva’s notes, “I had my suspicions about those two. Once I gathered evidence, I would have sent them on a suicide mission. A pity their deaths weren’t orchestrated by my hand.”

“I… I’m sorry?” Dimitri stuttered, thrown off by Maura’s casual mention of murder. “How do you- Er, rather, what have you learned?”

“That the esteemed Duke Fraldarius needs to check under his floorboards.” 

Yuri huffed a laugh. “A fitting place for rats, isn’t it? Or should I say moles?”

“Felix… will be less than pleased to learn of this.” Dimitri took a moment to consider. “Actually, now that I think about it, he might be thrilled to find opponents so close to home. Paperwork has been slowly but surely killing him.”

Petra turned to him. “You were mentioning that we should be leaving for Garreg Mach. It will be nice to see the other lions once again!” 

“It’s a shame your reunions have always taken place under such dreadful circumstances.” Yuri remarked.

“Will it be possible for us to leave tomorrow?” Vera couldn’t stand the idea of being separated from her friends for much longer—not after the distress she had caused them.

Dimitri grimaced. “I would prefer to wait a few more days so that you, Maura, and Bakari can fully recover-”

“Really, we’ll be fine,” Vera insisted. “I’m feeling far better than I was before.”

“As am I.” Maura added. However, considering their prior state of affairs, that wasn’t saying much. 

“Fine from what?” Petra inquired, head tilted.

“I mentioned we were taken prisoner: there was a bit of torture involved.” 

“Ah, well,” Petra’s smile turned frighteningly cheery and her magenta eyes gleamed with the promise of merciless deaths, “retribution must be had!”

Maura returned her mother’s expression with a devilish grin of her own. Vera realized she had been wrong: the duo were more alike than she’d guessed and it was rather terrifying. 

“Let’s give it two days,” Dimitri suggested.

“One and a half.”

“Deal.”

___


	23. A Meeting Long Overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fated meeting of friends, ex-lovers, and enemies.

5th of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, Officers Academy—

“Oh, Yuri,” Maura glanced over her shoulder, “you  _ are _ aware that your ex-lover is here, correct?” 

Yuri pondered that for a moment. “Which one?” he smirked.

Maura returned his smirk with a far too earnest smile. “I’ll allow you to see for yourself.” 

“Goody.”

Every step closer to the monastery further imbued Dimitri with the sense that he was walking to an executioner: he had absolutely no idea how Nikolai would react to seeing him, but he was certain things would be tense at the very  _ least _ . Vera was heading up the front of the group on a horse, guards flanking her on either side. As far as she was concerned, they couldn’t arrive quickly enough. 

“Why do you people need such large houses?” Bakari groaned, trotting on all-fours alongside their horses. As a wolf, he nearly reached the shoulder of Vera’s warhorse—more than slightly disconcerting.

“Structures such as the monastery are intended as a symbol of strength,” Maura said, her tone dull as someone discussing laundry, “and intimidation.”

Vera rolled her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “It’s the religious heart of Fódlan, not a fortress.” 

“Yes. Despite having more armored guards than most minor provinces and instructing all students on how to most efficiently eliminate enemies it’s definitely a glorified church and not a fortress—we promise.”

“After it was invaded by the Empire and nearly razed to the ground, can you blame them?”

“Garreg Mach was like this long before the war,” Maura kept her eyes on the horizon, waiting for the academy gates to appear, “but I’m not blaming anyone. Merely stating the obvious.” 

Bakari looked between the two of them. He shrugged his canine shoulders. “Okay then. As long as I get to sleep indoors.”

The instant they were within sighting distance of the gates, bells started clanging and knights of Seiros rushed forward to greet them. It wasn’t long at all before a wonderfully familiar group of teenagers sprinted full-force toward the princess and assassin. 

Vera was nearly pushed out of her saddle by Nikolai jumping into her arms for an overdue hug. “Never,” he breathed, face buried in her neck, “ _ ever _ do that again.”

“I won’t,” Vera couldn’t stop her voice from breaking as she held her brother. Her usual reservations had vanished—now it was a conscious effort to keep her grip from tightening. 

“You are an idiot,” Irina huffed, arms crossed. “I would say that I hope you’ve learned your lesson, but I won’t waste my breath.”

Irina’s tone did nothing to stop Vera from reaching out to take her hand with a weary smile. Mathilda hopped onto the back of the saddle to squeeze Vera from behind while Iosif and Kliment rested relieved hands on the princess’s shoulders from either side. Emilia shot her a look that was at once angry and filled with affection, but worked her way into the group hug nonetheless. 

In the midst of their embrace, Maura dismounted and approached the academy, sizing it up. 

“We missed you too, Maura!” Kliment, wearing a teary smile, took her by the arm and tugged her encouragingly. “Come here, please?” 

Maura deftly removed her arm from his hold and quirked a brow at him. “It’s reassuring to know that you weren’t so blind and deaf as to entirely overlook my absence.” She pushed her glasses up. 

“Ah.” Kliment deflated a little. “Apologies for… touching you.”

“Hm. You’ll make for a wonderfully chivalrous knight, dear.” Maura patted his head and turned to converse with Geneva. 

Mathilda lit up. “Geneva! You’re okay too!”

Geneva tilted her head quizzically and gave the peppy girl an awkward wave. 

“Um…” Emilia slowly pointed at the giant wolf sitting among them. “Someone care to explain that? I’m  _ very  _ curious.”

Bakari had settled into a comfortable position on the ground, opting to let everyone focus on the girls. Of course, as soon as one person pointed him out, everyone and their grandmother took to staring. He sighed. “The name’s Bakari.” 

“Holy  _ fuck _ , he talks?!” Bran stared at him in awe, eyes the size of plates.

Iosif wore a huge, enthused grin. “Okay, this might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Vera tsked. “He isn’t a  _ thing _ ,” she was able to dismount despite Nikolai continuing to cling to her, “Bakari helped us escape. We would be in Callister’s clutches if it weren’t for his bravery.”

“Bravery is a strong word.” Bakari huffed. “I saw an opportunity and decided to take a chance.” 

“That is the  _ literal definition _ of bravery,” Irina deadpanned.

“Huh. Guess so.” With a drawn-out yawn, light engulfed Bakari’s figure as his shape shifted to that of a human’s. 

Mathilda gasped. “What the  _ shiiiiit _ ?!”

Bakari winced, his still canine ears flicking. “Not so loud.  _ Please _ .” 

Ignoring his request, Mathilda jumped down from Vera’s horse and sized him up, stars in her eyes. “How’d you  _ do _ that?!"

Without letting go of his sister, Nikolai gaped in wonder at the shapeshifter. “What race are you? Where did you come from? Is this a new form of Reason magic?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, and I… don’t think so?” Bakari rolled his shoulders and glanced at Vera. “Is there a place I can rest? I’m fine with sleeping on the floor.”

“Nonsense,” Vera replied. “We’ll put you up in a spare dorm. I suppose you could relax in the courtyard for now.” 

“That works for me.”

As Bakari walked by, Bran found himself thoroughly incapable of coherent speech. He could only attempt to mumble, “Hi.” 

Surprisingly, Bakari heard him just fine. “Hey.” 

The archer jumped. “U-Um… Nice t-to meet you!” he stuttered, slightly flushed.

“Same to you.” With that, Bakari was off to find a comfortable patch of grass. 

At that moment, Linhardt and Caspar arrived at the scene, the former intently studying the newcomer. “Am I dreaming, or did that boy have ears and a tail?”

Petra’s already wide smile brightened upon seeing her former classmates. “Friend Caspar! Friend Linhardt!” 

Caspar’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “ _ PETRA _ ?!” 

“Volume, Caspar. I told you she was alive, didn’t I?”

“SEEING HER IN PERSON IS ANOTHER THING ENTIRELY!” Caspar all but charged Petra for a fierce hug. “You could have sent a letter or  _ something! _ ” 

“Apologies. I have been very occupied.” Petra was one of the only people alive capable of returning a hug from Caspar von Bergliez-Hevring with equal intensity. “It is so nice to be seeing everyone’s children!” 

“Wait,” Yuri murmured, “if those two are here, then that means-”

“Hello,  _ Yuri _ ,” an icy voice came from behind him.

Yuri didn’t dare turn to face the voice’s owner. In fact, he didn’t dare address the situation at all, choosing instead to remain entirely silent. 

“So good to  _ finally _ see you again.” The speaker got closer, their seething aura sending a rare chill down the Savage Mockingbird’s spine.

For the first time in his life, the Lord of the Underground had been rendered speechless—no amount of charm or wit would be enough to get him out of this. Frankly, he didn’t deserve to make an escape. This had been a long, long,  _ long _ time coming. “... Ashe,” he finally managed. 

“Will you not  _ look at me _ ?”

“That’s far more than I deserve.” 

“Without question. Still…” An expectant pause passed between them. 

Yuri was met with a narrow glare. “You’ve aged gracefully.” 

If at all possible, Ashe’s frown deepened. “Seventeen years.” 

“Hm, yes, it  _ has _ been that long, hasn’t it?” Yuri began slowly edging his way back. “I’ve always been terrible with time.” 

“I had no idea if you were dead or alive for  _ seventeen years _ .”

He could do a lot of things, but facing Ashe Ubert after seventeen years of uninterrupted absence was  _ not _ one of them. Yuri bolted. 

Unaffected, Ashe followed him at a leisurely stroll, confident that he would find him soon enough. “Hey, babe,” Casper called, concerned, “You want me to beat him up?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love. I’ll settle this myself.” Ashe sounded unnervingly calm. 

Mathilda tugged on Caspar’s sleeve once he was out of sight. “Papa, will Daddy be okay?” 

Caspar thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, he can handle this.” 

Dimitri looked to be on the verge of cracking up. “Oh Goddess,” he wheezed, “this is  _ incredible _ …” 

A blur of light green hair pushed past the monastery gates and enveloped both Nikolai and Vera in their arms. A rare tear flowed down Byleth’s cheek as she held her kids close. Vera nuzzled into her mother, feeling tenderly comforted in her embrace. “I missed you, Mother,” she whispered. 

“I missed you more.” Byleth kissed Vera’s forehead and squeezed her impossibly closer. Eventually, she pulled back and fixed her daughter with a glare; the gesture was utterly ruined by the warm smile she wore. “Don’t pull a stunt like this ever again, understand?”

“Understood.” 

More parents trailed after Byleth, most beaming at the sight of the princess safe and sound. Sylvain ruffled Vera’s hair. “See, Ingrid? I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Ingrid could only sigh heavily at Vera’s side, far too exhausted from recent events for a proper retort. “Yes, I suppose you did. Of course, that doesn’t make her actions any less  _ irresponsible _ .” 

Nearby, Mercedes giggled before taking notice of the Brigid queen. “Petra, it’s so lovely to see you again!” 

“Dearest Mercie!” Petra scooped the healer into her arms. “You are looking well! Where is Dedue?”

“Right here.” Dedue cracked a small smile. “It’s good to see you well.” 

The other adults were quick to flock to Petra. “Oh, I am forgetting to introduce my daughter.” Petra waved Maura over. “This is Maura. She is bringing me much pride and joy.” 

Maura couldn’t refuse her mother. “Hello, all. It’s a pleasure.” She gave a polite curtsy and hoped that would be the end of her introduction. Obviously, that was far too much to ask for. 

“Oh my, you are so pretty!” Mercedes crooned. “It’s wonderful to meet Brigid’s future queen!”

‘Three, two, one.’ Right on Maura’s mental cue, the group of gremlin children she had taken in gawked at her. 

“This is  _ that _ Maura?” Sylvain asked. Iosif and Kliment responded with jerky nods. “Huh. What are the chances.” 

Nikolai recounted everything he had read in Hubert von Vestra’s journal. The name Petra had come up multiple times, but no mention of her status as Brigid royalty. However, inquiring about her life now likely wouldn’t lead to any answers: he’d save his questions for later. 

“Why are you here instead of in your kingdom?” Annette inquired.

“I’ll be happy to answer questions  _ after _ we discuss our plans for the future.” Maura’s grin indicated no room for argument. It was as Nikolai had suspected. 

Mercedes giggled. “Aren’t you focused!”

“You’re right.” Byleth reluctantly relinquished her son and daughter, “Let’s convene in the Cardinal’s Room. There is much to discuss.” 

___

Nikolai had been so overjoyed at being reunited with his sister that any fear of his father had completely slipped his mind. Catching a glimpse of him on their way into the monastery was jarring. He didn’t know what he had anticipated of their inevitable encounter but… it was strange to see that he looked exactly as Nikolai remembered him: a strong but compassionate leader—nothing like the ruthless, blood hungry savage he’d read about. Perhaps he had expected Dimitri’s appearance to change with his perception of him. 

“Nikolai,” Emilia’s no-nonsense tone brought him back to the present, “Are you planning on actually answering my question?”

“Apologies, Emilia,” the prince shook his head and Vera, whose hand he was yet clutching, fixed him with a questioning gaze, “my mind was elsewhere. Could you repeat that?”

“I said that progress in the infirmary has been nonexistent.” Emilia frustratedly ran a hand through her hair, “You didn’t see the worst of it during your recent afternoon shift. Now that you’re back to working part-time in the sick bay,” she grimaced, “steel yourself.” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how much worse has the situation become? The last update I received was that this mysterious ailment is virulent.”

“So far, we’ve only been able to pacify some patients by removing the dark magic that’s attached to the illness—it doesn’t cure them, but it stops the violent outbursts. Unfortunately,” Emilia heaved a sigh, “the process is incredibly taxing, and it doesn’t always work.” 

“Have there been any casualties due to escaped patients?”

“Not to my knowledge.” 

Nikolai sighed, his relief palpable. “At least we have  _ that  _ under control. I can’t imagine the madness that would ensue if they were to escape.”

“There have been more than a few close calls. If any more patients come in before we can create a cure,” she shrugged haphazardly, “I can’t be certain what will happen.” 

“So, uh,” Bran’s head swiveled between the two doctors, “what should the rest of us do?”

“I doubt there’s anything. Really, you should do your best to avoid the sick bay.” Emilia replied. 

Mathilda glowered at the ground. “I hate feeling so  _ useless _ . It isn’t right that you two are doing all the work.”

“It’s us and about fifty other physicians. The two of us are hardly doing  _ all _ the work. And you shouldn’t waste energy being frustrated about what you  _ can’t _ do.”

“Emilia’s right.” Kliment nodded. “We’ll all have tasks to complete after the meeting. We need to concentrate on what we  _ can _ accomplish.” 

Irina grunted. “Something other than classwork. I need to get back out there soon. The more time we waste here, the more innocents die.” 

All twenty-one of them met in the Cardinal’s Room with Byleth taking her place at the head of the table. “Is Ashe still chasing Yuri around the monastery?” asked the archbishop.

“It’s more of a slow, menacing stalk on Ashe’s part, but yes,” Linhardt answered, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Well, we’ll begin without them.” Byleth addressed everyone present. “In Yuri’s absence, Maura—would you mind starting us off?”

Maura walked to the front of the room and immediately turned her attention to Felix. “First of all, they’re living under your lands.” 

Felix sat silently for all of about five seconds before jumping to his feet and marching toward the door. “ _ Felix _ !” Annette tugged on his cape. “No, stop,  _ stop _ ! Come on—you know going now is a bad idea-” Desperate, she turned to Dimitri. “ _ Please _ , stop him!”

The sight of Felix’s enraged sneer gave the king pause. “Uh, Felix-”

“Shut. Up.  _ Boar _ .” 

“Annette, I think you’ve got this.” 

Out of options, the ginger pulled out her ultimate weapon: puppy-dog eyes. “ _ Please? For me? _ ” 

It was actually somewhat cute that  _ that line _ was what made Felix desist. With a grumble, he allowed Annette to pull him back to his chair. Only then did she notice Irina shaking with barely contained rage, one hand clutching her sword in a white knuckled grip. “Irina, if you leave, so help me Sothis, you will be on indefinite leave from the military— _ do not test me I can make it happen! _ ” 

Irina made no move to stand, but there was murder in her eyes. “Fine.” 

“Anyway,” Byleth cut in, fighting a laughing fit, “what  _ else _ can you tell us, Maura?”

“I would first like to note that we should be wary of an Agarthan general by the name Callister—he was the one who took us hostage. He also provided us the means with which to escape.” 

“...What?” Sylvain blinked and stared.

“The best way to put this is that he’s only interested in being entertained.” 

Kliment turned to Iosif. “Oh, is Callister the man you-” His jaw audibly clicked shut. “Right, yes.” 

“The man he  _ what? _ ” Ingrid asked. “Do elaborate.”

Sylvain and Iosif both grimaced. “We’ll… talk about it later,” her husband said.

“We will?” Iosif asked flatly. 

“If you want to be a part of this family, yes.”

“Feel free to disown me.”

“ _ Iosif! _ ” Ingrid cried.

“Relax, Ingrid,” Sylvain chuckled, “he knows that’s never going to happen.”

“Don’t joke about such things.” Kliment huffed, reaching over and squeezing Iosif’s hand. 

Iosif fought the urge to cringe. “Might we move on?” 

“Mm,” Byleth nodded, “So you’re telling me that this man let you go because he thought it’d be fun?”

“He didn’t simply ‘let us go’—we had to work for that privilege. His desire for entertainment could work either to our advantage or our hindrance. As for the other commanders, I believe it would be pertinent to have those experienced in battle against them provide details.” Maura glanced expectantly at the other teens. 

Nikolai breathed a humorless laugh. “They certainly left an impression on us. Eskandar is a cocky Trickster who can warp himself around the battlefield. Eris…” The prince cast Mathilda a concerned glance.

“That boy is fucked; he was frothing at the mouth the whole time,” she responded without hesitation. “I mean, he moves more like an animal than a person: it’s so damn erratic. I wasn’t even really fighting him—just trying not to die,” Mathilda stopped for a second, “I guess that’s what battle is, but  _ especially _ here.” 

“If we fight Eris again,” Caspar was deadly serious, “he’s  _ mine _ .”

Part of Mathilda wanted to object, but the other half was keen to move the discussion elsewhere, so she stayed quiet. 

“Yes, dear,” Linhardt patted Caspar’s head, “we shall have our revenge, make them regret they were ever born, etcetera etcetera.”

“Damn right.”

“I don’t think any of us ever fought Sinthia.” Emilia began. “She did, however, ask if we were willing to surrender before the fight started… for what that’s worth.” 

“Minerva—a paladin—led the charge against us, but she deferred to Sinthia,” Iosif recalled. “She was incredibly skilled on horseback given the rough terrain. I had to use up all my magic to get her to back off.” 

Finally somewhat calm, Irina raised her hand to interject. “It should be noted that Eris repeatedly mentioned Sinthia and freaked out over how he’d ‘disappointed her’. We should consider the possibility that the two are related—perhaps mother and son. After all, Eris looked no older than  _ twelve _ .”

Caspar blinked. “What?”

“Eris is likely a preteen.”

Dimitri sputtered. “He was leading troops at  _ twelve years old _ ?”

“I’m only estimating his age, but I’d be surprised if he was any older than that.” 

“... Still needs an ass kicking,” Caspar concluded. 

“As for our actions going forward,” Byleth easily regained the focus of the room and nodded to Maura. “I need you to coordinate with Yuri—have your organizations on the lookout for those Agarthan commanders, most notably Callister. If we can capture him or any of the others, we may be able to convince them to cooperate.”

“Already in progress. For the time being, there are minor operations we can target before eventually gathering the intel to mount a  _ proper _ assault on Shambhala,” Maura eyed Vera and Nikolai, who leveled exasperated glares at her. “Obviously, our first major mission will be flushing them out from beneath the Duke’s flooring. In order to accomplish that, we need to locate their hideout’s weak points and learn how to exploit them.” 

Before anything else could be said, the chamber doors flew open with a jarring bang. “ _ Guys _ !” Raphael called, grinning from ear to ear, “You’ll never believe what this Lillian lady came up with! It’s  _ insane _ !”

Bran, head in his hands, heaved a long-suffering sigh. “What is it, Dad?”

“We have a  _ portable  _ ballista now! Can you believe that?! Science is awesome!”

Leonie came up behind him, her steps giddy as she held said ballista. “She’s made three of them so far,” she laid the still sizable hunk of machinery before Bran. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Uh,” Bran didn’t dare touch the mechanism for fear of setting it off by accident, “yeah. Really cool, Ma.”

“She needs archers to test them. I volunteered both of us: hope you don’t mind.” 

“Eh, not like I had anything better to do.”

“That’s the spirit!” She thumped her son on the back so hard he nearly face planted into the table. “C’mon, let’s get to it!” 

“Lillian’s here? I had no clue,” Mathilda remarked. “I’ll have to say hi when I get the chance.” 

“Uh-huh.” Vera had been so caught up in the awkward tenseness between Nikolai and Dimitri that she was finding it irrationally hard to pay attention let alone contribute. 

Mathilda nudged her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Everyone being together again is just,” she smiled ruefully, gaze still locked on her brother and father, “surreal.” 

___

—Garreg Mach, Marketplace—

“How long are you going to do this?”

“You’re the one following  _ me _ .” 

“Last time I took my eyes off of you, you dropped off the face of the earth. I’m not about to repeat the same mistake.”

Yuri stopped in his tracks and frowned. “Ashe,” He shook his head, but finally faced his pursuer. “We should…” Yuri had to force the next series of words out, “ _ talk about this _ .” Ashe was the only person who could keep up with him: tempting as it was, running around in circles wouldn’t help either of them.

The same disappointed frown was etched into Ashe’s normally soft features. He crossed his arms tightly to keep them from ensnaring Yuri in a desperate attempt to make sure he never left again. “Talk about what? How you left without telling me,  _ your lover _ , as soon as the war ended? Or how you never  _ once _ wrote to me?” His sneer became viscous. “Or maybe you’re referring to the anguish of wondering if I could have convinced you to stay?”

“You…” Yuri took a deep breath, “couldn’t have convinced me. What I did is unforgivable, but you’re most definitely better off without my paranoia and secrets in your life. Caspar and Linhardt make you happier than I ever could. I didn’t tell you I was alive because I wanted you to forget about me. I know you would have searched for me otherwise.” 

Ashe was on the verge of either bawling or screaming; he fisted his hair to ground himself. “I’d be  _ even happier _ if I had you in my life too! Why would I want to forget you, Yuri?! I… Even after what you did,  _ I love you _ !”

That was a punch to the gut. “ _ Please _ tell me you meant to say you  _ loved _ me  _ past tense _ .” Yuri wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the response to that. 

“Unfortunately… no.” Ashe began trembling, his furious front beginning to crack.

“...  _ I am so sorry _ .” He couldn’t think of anything else worth saying. “You deserve  _ so much _ better than being stuck on me.” 

Tears finally dripped down Ashe’s cheeks. “But I  _ want _ to be,” his voice hitched. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Yuri stepped nearer. He had just barely extended an arm when Ashe threw himself into him. Goddess save both of them.

___

—Garreg Mach, Outskirts—

“This is stupid.” Eskandar griped.

“You think  _ everything _ I do is stupid!” Eris retorted.

“That’s because the overwhelmingly vast majority of the things you do  _ are _ .” Eskandar couldn’t decide what was more embarrassing: being forced to scramble up the wall of a building with daggers or the knowledge that this “mission” was already a failure. “Forget plain stupid—this is criminally imbecilic.” 

“Um, sirs?” an assassin below them called, “Are you  _ sure _ there’s nothing we should be doing?” He and his two other comrades were best suited for this type of mission, after all.

“You could shoot me down,” Eskandar muttered to himself, “an arrow to the head would be welcome at any time.” 

“Quit your whining.” As much as Eris longed to please Sinthia, he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about their assignment either: it required way too much restraint from him. “Let’s get this done.” 

“Oi, guys look!” a voice shouted from the parapets. “Intruders!”

“Oh noooooo!” Eris internally cringed at his acting. “They’ve spotted us! Um, run to the woods? I guess?”

Eskandar seriously debated letting go and allowing gravity to claim him. “You heard the commander! Everyone retreat!” 

“I’ll stay here.” Eris awkwardly hung from the wall. “And hold them off. Yeah.”

“Good luck, kid. You’ll need it.” The trickster let go, shortened his fall by warping closer to the ground, and rolled when he landed. “Move out!” 

A spear was shoved in Eris’ face, the head poking his nose. “Finally,” a jovial soldier said, “something to report to the archbishop!”

It took a good deal of resolve for Eris to not throat chop the dimwit. He took a deep breath and allowed the bumbling guards to chain his hands. “You won’t win.” Eris did his best to muster a convincing sneer. 

“Oh! Would you like some water?” His captor smiled brightly. “You must be exhausted from all that climbing.”

“Wh- _ What _ ?” The young grappler sputtered. “I-I mean I guess, but why are you even asking?” 

“Good point. I’ll get you a glass right away!” 

“Uh, thanks?” 

“No worries, friend! I hope you’re excited to meet the archbishop—we don’t get many intruders these days, so she’s bound to be interested in you!” The guardsman frowned innocently and tapped his chin. “Say, what’s your name, buddy?”

A dark, crippling thought pushed its way to the forefront of Eris’ mind. His blood ran colder than the worst winter night and his fists trembled until nails were digging into flesh. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “How old do you think I am?” 

The man blinked. “I don’t know. Does it really matter?”

“Just… just tell me what your best guess is.” 

“Hmm…” the man analyzed him with a comically serious expression. “Maybe ten?” He shrugged, his easygoing smile ever-present. “But in my opinion, you’re never too young to make a difference! That is the purpose of the Officers Academy after all.”

‘ _ I WILL EVISCERATE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP _ ,’ was what Eris wanted to shriek. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek so harshly that blood coated his tongue and focused on the sensation of sinking his nails further into his palms. “I’m not… ten.”

“Ah. Eleven then?”

“Stop. Guessing.”

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to upset you.” To Eris’ great surprise, the guard actually bowed. “I just wanted to get to know you better, that’s all! I hope we can become friends one day.” 

Red was starting to taint the Agarthan’s vision. “Aren’t you supposed to take me to the archbishop?” he hissed. 

“Whenever you feel up to it!”

“Fucking.  **_TAKE ME_ ** .”

The poor man deflated like a balloon. “Y-Yeah, okay,” he murmured dejectedly.

___


	24. Something Wicked Overhead Looms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory coupled with an unfortunate surprise.

**??? of ???, Year 1176**

—Duscur—

Everywhere she looked, the town was consumed by fire and smoke. The ever-present embers strung her eyes, and screams assaulted her hearing from all sides. The inescapable destruction suffocated her; the imperious woman at her side drank it up, appearing completely nonplussed.

“It’s a pity they’re so frail—there isn’t much fun to be had.” Persephone twirled her battle axe with a sigh. “You arrived far later than I expected. Did something hold you up?”

Sinthia had gone completely pale: a true feat for any Agarthan. She was _not_ going to tell her she’d spent the afternoon with a certain, sickly child. “Callister wanted to ensure I’d,” she did a poor job masking the tremble in her tone as the stench of burning viscera hit her nose, “fully grasped my last lesson. You know how thorough he is.” 

“Tch.” Persephone’s gaze remained glued to the mesmerizing blaze around them. “He's obsessive. Between him and Thales they make me want to slit my own throat.” She took a deep inhale of bitter air. “It’s the simple pleasures that keep me sane.” 

“Yes, it’s,” another unholy screech as metal met bone, “the little things.” Sinthia needed to say something. Anything. “Uh, so the plan was to,” another body rendered beyond recognition, “massacre everyone. No prisoners or…?”

“There can be no survivors.” Persephone crushed a charred, brittle skull beneath her boot. “We must break the surface-dwellers, mind and spirit.”  
  


“Okay.” She swallowed. “I’ll just… do a sweep of the area. Make sure no one manages to crawl away.” As soon as Sinthia had walked a good enough distance from Persephone, she doubled over and heaved: it wouldn’t have surprised her if she vomited everything she’d ever eaten and then some. Sinthia wiped her mouth on her witch’s robes, and threw up again. 

The smog of the atmosphere and the dying screams it held—they flooded her head, dared Sinthia to pick herself up from her own sick and take a good look at what her people were responsible for. She made an effort to sit up and scrambled to stand as soon as her head lolled against something _wrong_ . Trembling, she turned and saw a mop of filthy blonde hair atop a severed head: the eyes had been gouged from their sockets, leaving a bleak emptiness behind. The face had been clawed at, as though some stray cat had made it a plaything. It’s tongue was missing too. “This is…” her voice was so simpering it was no wonder Persephone called her callow. When Thales spoke of reclaiming the surface, she had expected war. Not whatever the hell _this_ was.

But what had she expected? What _should_ she have expected? Sinthia spent her days studying magic, unconnected from their affairs in the outside world. This could have been the hundredth genocide they’d committed for all she knew. To think she had been so set on helping her people in any way she could. 

In the corner of her eye, Sinthia bore witness to a boy who appeared to be dead on his feet. He stared vacantly at the carnage, unable to tear his eyes away. Perhaps he was too shocked to realize he should be crying or running or hiding or maybe even dead. 

She continued to wander aimlessly through the wreckage, taking care to avoid bodies of the fallen and flaming debris. Nobody, civilian, Agarthan or otherwise noticed her amid the chaos; a haggard group of Kingdom knights, their leader a stoic ginger warrior, passed her by, cutting their way through both obstacles and enemies alike. 

Sinthia didn’t know how long she spent ambling across the hellscape before the image of that boy wormed its way to the front of her mind. He would die if no one did anything; considering how much death had already occurred, it wasn’t as though his corpse falling among the mangled cadavers would make much of a difference. So why wasn’t she going on her way? 

She wanted to cackle: was her consciousness seriously telling her to save this child? As though that would absolve her of her sins and wash her white with innocence. What was one meager life in the face of so much destruction? Yet, Sinthia found herself turning back. If she was going to do this, for some strange reason, some despairing need to take action, she had to do it right. Should Persephone discover her sudden desire for heroics, it wouldn’t just be her neck on the chopping block: she’d need to disguise herself. Sinthia thought of the unflappable leader from before, and was quick to assume the man’s form. 

Without breaking her sprint, she scooped the blonde boy into her arms. She had no idea where she was running, only that it had to be as far as possible from here. Sinthia barged through aflame, crumbling buildings, dueling soldiers, thick smoke clouds until she finally reached the edge of the village. She set him beneath a tree alongside the main road; in the distance, she could see a small group of knights rushing toward them. Without looking back, Sintha disappeared back into the terror from which she came. 

Later, on the long trek home to Shambhala, Sinthia briefly considered running: picking a random direction and taking off in the middle of the night with nowhere in mind. She wondered how long it would take for Thales to get wind of her disappearance: how long it would take for her to be branded a traitor with an execution hanging over her head. More than that, she considered what would happen to all those who had interacted with her prior to this outing. Leaving would only lead to more unnecessary death; not to mention her total lack of a place to go. 

And then there was that boy; she had saved one life compared to the scores that were slaughtered. No matter how Sinthia looked at it, there was blood on her hands. Had she not joined Persephone tonight, she would have continued her complicit, ignorant life while such atrocities were committed by her people. No, Sinthia was by no means absolved, and she doubted she ever would be.

That was fine. She could live her life knowing she wasn’t a virtuous woman, but she couldn’t live on without some form of change. But what exactly could she change? She wasn’t exactly an influential figure: just someone Callister had seen some scrap of magical potential in. Sinthia supposed she would have to start by changing _that._

___

**??? of ???, Year 1176**

—Shambhala—

“I told you not to go.” Callister remarked when Sinthia stepped into his workroom. The girl had bags under her eyes and was clearly dragging her feet. He’d known this would happen. As much as Sinthia blindly supported Agarthan endeavors, she didn’t have the stomach to pull back the curtain and embrace what was actually going on. He doubted she ever would. “I hope you don’t expect to get out of today’s lesson because you saw things you didn’t want to.”

Sinthia bobbed her head and took a seat. “Where do we begin?” She mechanically retrieved the tome they were deciphering from her bag. 

Callister eyed her countenance. “At the same time, there’s no point in wasting time if nothing’s going to resonate with you.” He rolled his eyes. “What do you need? To cry, scream, shake your fist at the heavens and demand repentance?” 

“Why are we doing this?” She didn’t know why she said it, it just came out.

“Did you fall asleep during Thales’ millionth speech about purging the children of the Goddess?” 

“Why are we _massacring_ children?” 

“Because they aren’t going to just disappear without outside intervention.” Callister didn’t particularly care for those who lived above them. Caring about them would have done nothing but make his daily life more taxing than it already was. 

“So we have to brutalize them. There’s no other answer.”

“Even if I agreed wholeheartedly with you,” he shrugged, “it wouldn’t matter. If you want my opinion, frankly, I don’t see the point in a sneak attack with no direct follow-up.” But when were his words ever heeded? 

Sinthia quirked her brow. “You believe there’s an easier way?”

“ _I think_ it would have been more practical to kill Lambert in secret and have someone impersonate him to steadily weaken the Holy Kingdom in the years to come.” 

“It’s certainly a better alternative to…”

“I’m glad you can see that this bloodbath served no purpose but to,” how to most politely put this, “satiate the urges of those like Thales and Persephone.” 

A long, meaningful pause passed between them. “How do you live like this?” she eventually asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t waste time worrying about the morality—or _sanity_ —of the actions those above me choose to take.” Callister paused, “That’s not entirely true. I’d be lying if I said their choices never got on my nerves. But for very different reasons than why they upset you.” 

“Do you ever get the urge to do something about it?”

“At times. However, that urge is quickly stifled by reality. Has all this talking helped you?” 

Sinthia cracked open her tome and grabbed a quill, the ancient script blurring together as she stared at the page. “Let’s begin.”

___

**??? of ???, Year 1176**

The tiny child’s bony body shook with the force of his cough. He curled up in a tight ball on his straw mattress, teeth chattering. Sinthia draped a woolen blanket over him, tucking the little one in as best she could. 

He didn’t have long left. Maybe three or for more days. A week if he was lucky. None of the healing spells Sinthia had learned could do so much as ease his pain. As for regular medicine, he had been too far gone when he came to her. He hadn’t been the first, and most certainly wouldn’t be the last. Persephone would not rest until she had created something perfect. 

“Why did you have to do this, Sinthia?” The witch spun around to find an exasperated Callister. “You had to know what the eventual outcome would be.”

“Wha- What are you doing here? I didn’t tell you I was-”

“Hello, Sinthia.” Persephone emerged from behind her warlock mentor, a displeased sneer marring her expression. “Did you truly imagine this would escape my attention? I hoped you would have ceased this after the first failure finally passed, but here you are—wasting time.” 

Callister shook his sagging head. “She truly is… But, she has much to learn. All she’s done here is prolong the inevitable.” It was the best defense Callister could provide. 

“Pity for the weak is not a trait to be fostered,” Persephone hissed. “It is a vice which must be stamped out like the weed it is.” The woman drew her axe and drove the hilt into Callister’s gut. “She is your student: you should have recognized this weakness and dealt with it accordingly.” 

Callister collapsed to the floor in a heap. “You- You’re right…” he managed between hacking breaths. 

“I,” Sinthis stared, shock preventing her from actually moving, “I haven’t actually caused any harm. There’s no need to punish anyone else for my actions.”

“Hmph. That may be the case now,” Persephone ground the heel of her boot into the shuddering child crumpled on a bed of hay, pressing down until its bones cracked and it’s limp attempts at struggling ceased, “but weakness such as this tends to bleed into other aspects of a person’s life. For example,” with a crunch, blood pooled beneath her foot, “what if you were to spare one of our enemies?”

Sinthia broke into a cold sweat; could she have known of the little blonde boy she’d saved? No, that couldn’t be, and yet her terrifying word choice implied otherwise. All she could do was respond as calmly as possible. “...They would rise again to cut our throats.”

“ _Exactly._ ” The sheer malice behind Persephone’s shout made Sinthia flinch. “So, tell me why it is I’ve found you here acting the part of a quivering nursemaid? Is it possible you thought this failure held unseen potential?”

“No, Lady Persephone.”

“Did you seek to conduct further experimentation?”

“No, Lady Persephone.”

“Then what,” She tilted Sinthia’s chin up with the glistening blade of her axe, “were you doing?”

“Wasting my efforts on the useless.”

“Hm.” Persephone’s abysmal eyes scrutinized her, piercing Sinthia’s being for what felt like an eternity. “See to it such stupidity is not repeated. As for your punishment, well, I don’t know that anything I do to you will penetrate your density at this point. But, perhaps seeing those you call companions endure in your stead will.”

Were she not trapped in Persephone’s icy grip, Sinthia would have fallen to her knees. “P-Please, don’t,” she begged, voice fragile, “I’m the one at fault, it was my foolishness that disappointed you, _please_ , My Lady! Allow me to take their place!” 

All that earned her was a hard slap. “Mercy is only given to those deemed too frail to be a threat. _It’s worthless_. You’ll learn that lesson one way or another.”

___

5th of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Garreg Mach Monastery, Officers Academy—

“I cannot do this, Byleth.”

“You have to talk to him, Dimitri. You can’t avoid this forever.” 

“I’ll only make the situation worse. It’s the one thing I can consistently do right.”

Byleth sighed. “Love, what do you think leaving things as they are will accomplish?”

“It won’t make things worse!”

“Oh really. Because things can’t get much worse.” 

“That’s- erm, _fair_.” Dimitri tugged on his golden tresses. “But where do I begin? Does he even want to be in the same room as me?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. But,” Byleth sighed somberly, “he was worried about what your reaction to Vera going missing would be.” 

“Wonderful.” The king turned and pushed his face against the wall. He let out a muffled, tremulous groan.

“Hey,” Byleth grabbed his arm and pulled him into a warm hug. “I know things will get better with time, but for that to happen you have to talk to him.” She rubbed his back and pressed a tender kiss to his temple. “Okay?” 

Dimitri’s shoulders sagged, his posture taking a turn for the depressed. “Okay… I’ll try…”

Byleth gave him a tiny smile. “Good.” Then, in an impressive display, she lifted him into her arms like a bride. “Let’s go.”

“Wha- _NOW_?!” He squirmed in her firm hold. “I-I need some time!”

“You’ve had plenty of time to consider this.”

“Yes, but I _haven’t_!”

She ignored his muttering, hauled him into Nikolai’s dorm room and set him down. “Good afternoon, Nikki.” Then she was off. 

“Good afternoon, Mother-” Nikolai looked over his shoulder to greet Byleth and was met with… Dimitri. “Oh. Hello… Father.” 

“H-Hi!” A long, painful silence passed between them; sounds of others roaming the halls and wildlife outside were unnaturally loud in the all-encompassing stillness. “What are you working on?” Dimitri blurted.

“Nothing at the moment. I have a shift in the infirmary.” Nikolai avoided direct eye contact, instead focusing on the floor in front of him. He _wanted_ to demand some sort of justification, but, after everything, he’d been left feeling it wasn’t his place. Nikolai hadn’t suffered at the hands of Dimitri’s actions during the war. “I should probably get going.”

“May I walk with you? We have much to catch up on.” 

“I suppose so. It’s not like I can stop you.” 

“I-If you said no, I would obey your wish!”

The prince felt a surge of anger. “It was heavily implied that my wishes didn’t really matter during our last conversation.”

Dimitri wilted, his deep blue eye drifting to the floor. “Apologies,” he whispered.

“It’s… whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

His father bobbed his head. “Understood.” Dimitri blindly reached for the doorknob.

“For Goddess’ sake- do you have _any idea_ how hard it is to be mad at you when you’re so… _defeated?_ ” Nikolai snapped. “If you had just _told me_ instead of letting me find out from a dead man’s journal-” He could only gesture aggravatedly. 

“I didn’t tell you because I’m selfish,” his father breathed, back facing him. “You don’t need protecting. I only desired to raise you, to be at your side every step of the way. If you ever found out what kind of ma-” he cut himself off, “what I truly am, you would be disgusted with me. I lied, Nikolai, so I could live a life I don’t deserve.”

“I-” Nikolai’s throat swelled with emotion and fought to keep tears back. “Just tell me why. Why did you do everything you did during the war? All your friends who died at Gronder… You may not have killed them yourself but they died because of the chaos your actions created. I don’t understand—I _can’t_ understand.” 

“You don’t have to. It… There was no rhyme or reason behind what happened. All that kept me going were-” Dimitri shook his head; Nikolai didn’t need to know about the voices of the dead.

“I should just go.” And so Nikolai left: there was nothing else to say. He walked to the sick ward stressed from his conversation with Dimitri; he almost collided with the door while casting a protection ward. Emilia stopped him from hitting his head. 

“Before you go in there, you should know it’s only gotten worse. People who’ve been infected for too long are dying.” 

“Dear Goddess…” Just when Nikolai thought things couldn’t get any worse, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

“On the brighter side,” Emilia pushed the door open, “everyone who survived the attack is recovering.” Though she was telling the truth, it was hard to see anything remotely positive among all the pallid patients coughing up blood or clawing at their restraints. 

“Well,” Nikolai opened a cabinet and retrieved his equipment, “with classes on hold, we have all the time in the world.” He snapped on a pair of gloves. “Where should we begin?”

Mercedes ran by, her own gloves slick with red. “There’s a man by the window at the end who just came in. If you could take a look at him, that would be great.” 

“We’re on it,” Nikolai sighed. Said patient was in the fetal position, rocking back and forth, and muttering to himself. 

“This’ll be a fun one.” Emilia muttered. 

___

—Garreg Mach Monastery—

“Lady Byleth!” A Knight of Seiros bowed before the Archbishop. “We have apprehended one of the Agarthans you informed us about: a boy named Eris.”

“Seriously?” Byleth didn’t know whether to be impressed or suspicious. “I just put the order out.” This timing was far too coincidental: she’d have to look into the matter immediately. “Where are you holding him?”

“He’s bound and waiting in the Audience Chamber.”

Soon enough, Byleth was introduced to Eris: as described by Irina, he looked no older than twelve. However, his stocky frame betrayed his true strength, and his smokey, almost white eyes were disturbing to stare into. Once again, Byleth thanked her father for her unflappable demeanor.

“Greetings, My Lady!” Eris’ familiar captor chirped, “At last, I have something to report. This guy was scaling the wall with a pair of gauntlets! Can you imagine the upper body strength required to do that?!”

“I can guess.” The Gatekeeper’s unending optimism could serve as a bright spot in even the most disorienting days. “Thank you for your diligence. Oh, and if nothing comes up, I’ll see you at tea next week.”

“I hope to see you then, Milady!” The ever eager man took his leave, and Byleth was left to her own devices with their newly acquired prisoner. 

“Your name is Eris, correct-”

The young Agarthan shoved a sealed letter into her hands. After a moment of thought, he nodded stiffly at Byleth, his lips firmly sealed shut.

Byleth waited a moment, in case he wanted to offer some form of clarification. When he didn’t, she went about opening the letter he’d handed her. The handwriting was exceedingly eloquent: she had a hunch he hadn’t been the writer. 

_To the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros,_

_My name is Sinthia, a figure of prominent influence amongst the Agarthans. The one with you now is Eris, my ward of sorts. I am leaving him with you to offer both of us a form of leverage: you now possess someone I care greatly for, and I have provided you with a reason to trust me. On that note, I ask you to ensure no harm comes to him—be it from others or from himself._

_I, among others, have little interest in this ongoing conflict with your people. Should you assist me in removing our leader, Persephone, I will assume command of the Agarthans. Under me, I swear that no further harm will befall the children of the Goddess through my people’s actions._

_Naturally, getting to this point will be quite the journey. If you do not already have an immediate course of action planned, I would recommend flushing out the Fraldarius Lands. I have included a map of where to find the entrance to our lair. However, not only will you encounter a great deal of resistance, there is the matter of the revival of the Ten Elites. Eight are being moved, so you’ll be facing two during your intrusion._

Byleth had to stop reading. “The revival of- _What_?” Eris gave her a nervous look, and she pushed that disconcerting tidbit of information aside for the time being.

_Their spirits have been summoned and bound to Persephone. I was able to ensure that they maintained a fragment of will along with their original personalities. Fighting them will still be a hefty challenge, but you may be able to exploit this information during combat._

_I wish there was more I could tell you, but Persephone is less than forthcoming, even with her generals. I will be in touch._

The situation had suddenly taken a strange turn—even by her standards. How the everloving hell were they supposed to defeat the legendary Ten Elites? 

On the ground, Eris shifted, his eyes darting around the room. Really, he was looking at everything that wasn’t Byleth. If this Sinthia was to be believed, then he was more a guest than a prisoner. On the other hand, she couldn’t place her full faith in a person she hadn’t even met yet. They’d keep him restrained and restricted to a heavily monitored room until further notice. 

“Can you speak?” she asked.

Eris nibbled his bottom lip, peeking up at her with hooded eyes. Hesitantly, he nodded and wrung his hands.

“In that case, can you tell me more about Sinthia?”

Silence. 

“Alright then.” Any information she learned about this mysterious woman would likely have to come from the horse’s mouth. 

___

8th of Pegasus Moon, Year 1202

—Kingdom Territories, Fraldarius Outskirts—

“It doesn’t worry you at all?” Ingrid asked, brows raised. “We may be the greatest warriors ever to exist in Fódlan, and our ancestors at that.” She ran her fingers through the mane of her snow white pegasus, Opal.

“And?” replied Felix, his gaze ever forward. “A fight is a fight: it wouldn’t have given us rein to be careless if the dead had stayed dead.”

“It might end up being kind of fun. Maybe our however-many-great grandparents were secretly party animals,” Iosif quipped. “You never know.”

“I somehow doubt it,” Irina deadpanned, her fingers fiddling with her sword hilt. 

“You’re right, you’re right. There’s no way Fraldarius is anything but a major stick in the mud.”

“Then Gautier must be incredibly gifted at making unsuccessful jokes.”

“Ouch, Rina.” Iosif flinched from his place atop Velvet. “That one cut deep.” Although the light chuckling among their battalions and slight curve of Irina’s told him he’d successfully lifted the mood, Ingrid’s eyes were on him, and that was enough to make him regret speaking. 

Emilia smiled a bit: their banter was calming in its familiarity on the road to enemy territory. The Rafail Gem still felt strange hanging from around her neck: like it was too precious an object to actually belong to her, let alone be worn into battle. Mercedes had told her the relic would serve as a source of protection, and Emilia had no reason not to believe her. 

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Dedue’s voice rumbled from beside her, “You passed the war cleric certification with flying colors.”

“Hm? Ah, yes. It wasn’t challenging given that my skill set fits the class to a t.” In the past, passing certifications would have been a somewhat bigger deal in her friend group. Now though, it was incredibly minor in the grand scheme of things. Irina had become a swordmaster, and Iosif a dark flier, but neither of them had cared much either. 

Opal flew in closer to Velvet. “Are you certain you’re up to this, Iosif?” She wasn't referring to his battle preparations; they were all as ready for the fight as possible. No, Ingrid was trying to hint at Iosif’s headspace. What Sylvain and Kliment told her of her son’s “outburst” convinced Ingrid she would have to keep a close eye on him from now on.

“Given how we’re about to crash a party more lethal than one of Calvin Gautier’s ‘civilized gatherings for high class socialites’,” Iosif waved his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture, “yeah, I’d say I’m as up to this as everyone else.” Iosif shrugged at her and looked ahead. He should have known better than to draw her attention. “How are _you_ doing?” 

“Fine... All things considered.” A pause laced with tension passed before Ingid took Velvet’s reins and led their steeds into a patch of trees. “Why won’t you talk to me?” 

“ _Mom_ ,” Iosif began, his voice suddenly weary, “there’s nothing to talk about. Can we just focus on the mission? You, Dad, and Kliment shouldn’t waste time worrying about me. I’m _fine_.”

“Unfortunately, it’s our duty as family to fret over each other.” Ingrid dismounted and closed the distance between them. “And because of that, I’m finding it rather difficult to focus on the task at hand.”

“I’m _trying_ to be more,” he nearly shuddered, “ _open_ . Emphasis on _trying_.” It was true: he’d been blunter about the way he felt in the moment as of recently, but something told him that wouldn’t be enough for Ingrid. “Look, if this is about how I got here…” He shrugged again—that was one thing that would never be up for discussion. 

“Do you think me weak of heart?” Ingrid all but demanded, “Or perhaps that the truth will disgust me?”

“Oh. My. _Goddess_ Mom. Why can’t you let this go?”

“Because I am your _mother_. Why do you feel you must keep secrets from me?”

“Because it’s easier? I don’t know.” He knew very well, but damn the idea of explaining it. “Why are you so persistent?” 

“My children are my whole world. What about that is so difficult to understand?” Her hands clenched around Opal’s reins, wringing the leather to and fro.

“Okay, tell you what? I’m just going to stop talking now. Otherwise, we will quite literally be at this all day.” Iosif sealed his mouth shut and began directing Velvet back to the group. 

“Don’t turn your back on me, Iosif Glenndale Gautier!” Ingrid called after him, “Sooner or later, we must confront this!”

Or never. Never sounded pretty good to Iosif. Especially now that he was determined to spend the rest of the journey in silence. 

___


End file.
